


Lover Dearest

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Personality Disorder, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mentioned background characters, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, opioid addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: “Did you know that the Manhattan Bridge would be so busy at midnight on a Wednesday? I didn’t think it would be. Still, at least I got enough room to speed up and hit the barricade. Guess I didn’t hit fast enough.”In which Steve peels back Tony's guard and is faced with far more than he had bargained for. Recovery is never a straight line- but occasionally, it is beautiful.





	1. to come back into you

**Author's Note:**

> SO my friends,
> 
> This is hopefully going to be MULTIPLE CHAPTERS!! Chapters? In MY AO3??  
> If you've ever wondered (I doubt you have), I have never written a finished chaptered work. Why? Because I hardly have the attention span to remember what I ate for breakfast, let alone commit to more than a few one-shots. So we'll see how this goes haha.
> 
> I will warn that this is gonna be SUPER ANGSTY. It will be written from my extensive personal experience in the fields I will write about and the experiences of those I know. This work in no way represents everyone's experiences with drug addiction, mental illness, or any other mentioned. I promise though, like my own story, it will have a happy ending. 
> 
> The title of this work and the chapters is taken from an absolutely stunning song, Lover Dearest by Marianas Trench. PLEASE don't mistake this song as what it appears to be initially; a love song. Upon looking into the meaning of the song, you'll find a beautiful and tragic song meant to be a love song to Joshua Ramsay's past heroin addiction. PLEASE listen to it to enjoy this fic to the fullest.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: (will be added to as the fic progresses)  
> Centers around opioid addiction and recovery with multiple scenes involving hospitalization or relapse. Detailed withdrawal. Description of physical injuries. Self-depricating and ableist language from Tony's internalized self-doubt. Referenced suicide attempt at the beginning of the fic. Description of drug highs and lows. General mental illness, including Steve's own as a result of being a caretaker. Generally very angsty.

Of course drinking problems were serious; of course they were. It was simply that Steve had heard more about it than any other illness he had come to know. He had known many people who had depended a bit too heavily on their liqueurs and would crack open a bit more than a cold one at the end of the day. In his time, he was used to hearing about alcoholism- hell, he was shocked to hear how taboo drunk driving had become while he’d been in the ice. 

Tony was one of those people- at least, he had thought. His behaviour had always been erratic and lively but also had carried with it the effects of alcohol on his system. The bags under his eyes would weigh down and shadow, he would try to hide the nausea that he experienced each morning. It was obvious to Steve that Tony was an alcoholic, in his mind. He had never been surprised to report that Tony had been acting dazed and sickly during missions or to see the tabloids reading of another wild party that Stark had attended.

The one thing that Steve never expected was the shrill ring of his flip phone at 2 AM. 

He’d received these calls before, or so he thought. Occasionally, an urgent mission simply couldn’t wait for the next day. Just as the diligent soldier that he was trained to be, he shot up from his sleeping position and reached easily for the phone, expecting to hear Nick Fury or Hill’s voice on the other end. 

“Hello?”

_“Is this Steve Rogers?”_

Steve stiffened immediately at the soft, unfamiliar tone of the woman’s voice. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, brow deepening in a frown. “Yes, this is Steve. What can I do for you?”

_“There’s been an accident. Mr. Tony Stark is in hospital and we would appreciate if you could come down as quickly as possible.”_

And of course, that was the ultimate last-thing that Steve had expected to hear over the static. He barely heard his own lips form some words of recognition as he got to his feet, hurriedly stumbling into his beat-up lace boots. He was slighted to notice that his fingers were trembling as he tied the loops.

 

The drive to the hospital was quiet. Steve would have expected that his thoughts would have been racing, but he was met with radio silence. Somewhere in that blurry black haze, he could recognize simple questions popping into his conscious mind; things like _‘why’d he call me?’_ or _‘what if he doesn’t make it?’_ It was almost too simple to dismiss these wonderings and instead focus on the steady sputtering of his motorbike engine as he veered onto a back-end road. He was at least glad that some things about New York City never had changed.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected when he pulled up to the hospital. Of course he knew that the public hadn’t seen this as ‘just another accident.’ No, this was Tony Stark, ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ _Iron Man_ for god’s sake. Still, Steve had clung onto the hope that he would witness at least the slightest shred of human decency within tragedy. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of reporters and cameras, shuffling about near to the hospital doors like buzzing mosquitos or a dumb-faced school of carnivorous fish. They didn’t have to be told that the rumbling vehicle pulling into the parking lot was Steve Rogers. As if customers at the gates on a Black Friday, they tripped over themselves, struggling to block Steve’s path. Steve prayed silently in thanks that God had given him strength not to speed up when a woman lunged in front of his tires. 

_“Steve, do you know anything about the-?”_

_“-is this the end of Tony Sta-?”_

_“- Captain America, look here!”_

Steve dismounted the bike and shouldered his way between two cameramen, struggling not to feel the hot breath of the media on the back of his neck. Despite his best efforts to keep his head down and remove the yelling voices from his mind, one question remained there: _“Is this the end of Tony Stark?”_ All that he could muster inwardly was a small, _god, I hope not._

Once he had stepped through the automatic doors and past the security, he allowed for a breath of relief. A wave of sharp rubbing alcohol and cleaner slapped him across the cheek and immediately, he was reminded of his mother. He fought the wave of nausea that came over him in that moment and forced his steps to continue in the direction that a nurse pointed him in. She was saying something- at least, her lips were moving. Steve couldn’t comprehend anything else. 

Finally, the ever-present noises of the distant crowd stopped with an abrupt halt, silence falling over his shoulders like a curtain. Lights, curtain, scene: the image of a sleeping form was unveiled before him and he choked for a moment. Tony faced away from him, curled almost in the fetal position. One arm was clearly bound in a white cast, an IV leaking slowly into the vein just north of the white, white, white. Hurried footsteps rounded the corner, just to rip the band-aid off and find… nothing.

Tony’s eyes were open, staring into nothingness. For a moment, Steve’s blood chilled. The deep cut in his eyebrow was inflamed and red, stitches only more angry due to the blossoming purple and black bruises around the bones there. A white tube was draped over his ear, curling over his still face and disappearing into his nose. Finally, a blink. Steve released a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. 

“Tony?”

No response. Steve turned to the nurse- whom he’d forgotten was still present- and felt his jaw clench.

“What’s happened?”

“An ambulance was called to the scene of a crash where Mr. Stark was found. The impact was caused by his own motor vehicle colliding with a barricade at a high speed- we don’t know exactly how high yet, but estimate that it would have been at least 60 miles per hour. For the most part, he has sustained treatable injuries. A nasogastric tube was forcibly inserted for feeding purposes due to his refusal to eat. The left arm is broken in two places and lacerations needed stitching on his face and abdomen. Two ribs are broken in the right side. We have been keeping him on opioids for pain relief and he seems relatively unresponsive due to… well, we don’t know. We hoped a familiar face would help to set him at ease.”

Steve’s mind swam with the information, eyes never leaving Tony’s still form. So much of it he was… surprisingly able to stomach. Tony had been hurt far worse in the past; it was the silence that caused his chest to tighten in an uncomfortable way.

“… we will have some paperwork for you to fill out in a while. For now, make yourself comfortable. We should be able to release him by 8 AM.” 

Steve barely heard himself mutter a thanks before the nurse had hurried away with a clipboard in hand. For a moment, he allowed his gaze to continue resting upon the almost-peaceful figure on the hospital bed, hands shoved deep into his pockets almost protectively. Then, in an effort to calm himself, he sucked in a deep breath, retracting his stare to survey the room. At least it was a nice room- well, of course it was. This was Tony Stark, Iron Man, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Of course, the walls were still a sold and dismal white, an all-too-familiar buzz from the fluorescent lights beating down on the two of them. But still, in the corner sat two chairs and a small table with a plant upon it, a game of chess and a deck of cards set neatly on top of it. Steve strode to the chair and pushed it to the side of Tony’s bed, allowing enough space to keep Tony feeling at ease.

“What happened?”

No response. Blink, blink.

“Hey, uh… I’m sure you don’t want to hear this but you know, we really value you as an asset to the team and everyone will be more than happy to know that you’re safe-“

“Don’t.” The voice was gravelly and raw, clearly from overuse. It chilled Steve to think about the tube in his nose. _‘a nasogastric tube was forcibly inserted…’_ he didn’t want to think about Tony pushing trays of food away and kicking at doctors while they threaded the thin tube into his stomach.

Steve’s lips, he noticed, were firmly pressed together, almost in an unconscious effort to keep his own mouth shut. After a moment, he straightened, rolling his shoulders and realizing inwardly that he still wore his sleep shirt with only a jacket overtop and some dirty jeans thrown on haphazardly. He hadn’t realized how much of a worried rush he’d been in. “Okay,” he settled for saying, allowing for his mid-back to rest against the back of the stiff chair. 

A moment passed before Steve finally rose from his seat, reaching to retrieve the incased game of chess. The cardboard box it was held in was ripped at the edges and worn while the pieces inside weren’t too much to look at either. Once he’d returned to his seat, he gently and slowly pushed aside the bedsheets in front of Tony and set the board down, beginning to place the pieces in their appropriate spots. The white rook was missing, so he had to substitute a cotton ball instead. 

“I figure you’re more of a black guy than a white.”

No response. Blink, blink.

“Gentlemen first,” Steve began.

 

Tony’s good hand, the one that wasn’t cradled at his side, reached tentatively out and pushed a pawn forward. Steve couldn’t hold back a small smile that tugged at the corner of his lip. 

Tony, to no surprise, beat Steve three times in a row even on all of the drugs that he was likely on. Even despite the unnerving tremble in Tony’s hands and the situation they were in, Steve still allowed himself to chuckle when Tony put him in checkmate within fifteen minutes of playing or less. Even then, he knew that the genius was going easy on him. He’d seen the man piece together a communication device in the middle of the Antarctic out of just the remnants of a clock and a radio. 

“Another game?” Steve asked, a lopsided smirk on his face. He clearly didn’t expect a response, so he took the silence as a ‘yes.’ His large hands began to move the pieces back to their starting places with only the click of plastic against plastic and the hum of the fluorescent light serenading them. He placed the last pawn in its place.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

Steve felt his muscles grow taught at the sudden words and his stubborn gaze remained trained on the board as if to guard him from the oncoming confession. He didn’t want to hear it, in a selfish way. He didn’t want to hear the pain behind the stripped voice. _Let’s just play, Tony, please._ He chanted inwardly.

“What… what do you mean?” Steve’s voice cracked on the last syllable and he felt his neck grow hot with embarrassment.

“I crashed the car,” Tony continued, his words almost painful to listen to. Steve figured that the screaming and the tube had torn his throat to shreds. “I-I wanted it.” Steve was completely silent, so Tony continued. “Did you know that the Manhattan Bridge would be so busy at midnight on a Wednesday? I didn’t think it would be. Still, at least I got enough room to speed up and hit the barricade.” There was almost a self-deprecating tone hidden even in the dry, seemingly emotionless words, some sort of Tony-Stark-esque humour within it. “G-guess I didn’t hit fast enough.”

This time, it was Steve’s turn to be silent. Blinking, blinking… more blinking. 

“Why… T-Tony-?“ this was it. The well-to-do, mannerly, star-spangled man with a plan was choking on his words. Even in the most dire of situations, Steve was able to get out more than two damn words. Two damn words and he still stumbled along. There were a million questions that he wanted to ask; _‘why did you do it?’ ‘what were you thinking?’ ‘how could you do that to yourself? To me?’_ Still, only one question allowed itself to pass his lips: “why did you call me here?”

 

No response. Blink, blink. Tony closed his eyes and they stayed closed.

Steve barely willed his shaking knees to take him to the light switch. 

 


	2. ... but I'm feeling colder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's first hour alone with Tony is basically what he had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter:
> 
> Cry Baby- The Neighbourhood 
> 
> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry

When the elevator doors opened Steve carefully stepped out into the kitchen area, Tony held closely and supportively so that he might walk more surely, he expected _something._ Instead, he was met with complete and utter silence. Of course, he knew that most of the Avengers that inhabited the tower would be out on mission or whatnot- Steve hadn’t checked his phone for anything, so he assumed that if anything had come up, they’d gone without him. He was grateful when a voice broke the silence.

_“Welcome back, Sir. Welcome, Captain Steve Rogers.”_

“Hey, Jarvis,” Steve mumbled in response, forcing a small smile. Tony broke off from his side, ambling slowly to the kitchen counter and turning on the coffee machine. The steady sound of water boiling rose and Tony just stared, waiting and waiting. Steve was sure that it killed Tony to see himself in such a position: Steve’s jacket was thrown sloppily over his shoulders, hanging limply as Tony’s arm was in a sling close to his chest. His hair was wild and unwashed, sticking up straight in some areas. Some emotion warmed Steve to see the man so… unfamiliar… and dishevelled. He told himself that it was worry.

“Y’know, the doctors are kind of, uh, taught to get on your ass about shit so,” Tony began, stumbling over the words. “I really don’t think you need to be treating this like it’s some goddamn mission.”

“The doctor told me that you shouldn’t be left unattended.”

“Seriously, tight-ass, go home.”

“Tony,” Steve insisted, surprising himself with the sudden strength and conviction in his tone. “I’m staying. That was the deal- you can go home if I stay and watch you until the doc gives you the ‘okay’. Deal with it or go back to the hospital.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the space between them. Of course it was uncomfortable- Steve expected that after the rift in the Avengers and their falling out, it was going to be awkward for a while. Steve couldn’t keep his wandering eyes from falling to Tony’s soft neck. The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a result. Steve inhaled sharply, snapping himself back to the present.

“Alright,” Tony finally said. “Mi casa es su casa.” He opened the cupboard and retrieved a black mug, setting it down by the coffee press.

Steve allowed himself to relax, sliding out a chair by the counter and taking a seat. Admittedly, he was exhausted and had no clue how Tony was possibly on his feet what with no sleep and opioids in his system. He seemed almost… normal. Steve didn’t allow his mind to get carried away with this notion. 

On the counter to his far left sat an open edition of the _National Enquirer._ Steve’s legs strained as he reached out to get it, sliding it back along the surface until it lay open in front of him. He flipped idly to the front page to find a glaring, glossy image of the man standing directly in front of him. At first, he expected to see reports of the crash but reasoned that it was far too early for reports to already be out- right? 

There he was, in trademark sunglasses which tinted the bags beneath his eyes in a red tinge. His goatee was overgrown and scruffy, slightly covered by the hood over his head. His chin was positioned slightly to the ground, clearly an effort to avoid the pictures being snapped of him. Steve knew that Tony was used to such treatment, but it still caused an uncomfortable nausea to churn inside him.

**BILLIONAIRE GONE BONKERS? Inside Tony Stark’s lavish parties, heroin abuse, and terminal diagnosis!**

Steve scoffed audibly at the reading, shaking his head in dismay. He’d been on the same cover once- not as many times as the ever-famous Stark, but once was enough. They had fabricated so many “secrets” about him that he practically had to question _himself_ if they were true. Of course, within the blaring red lines and capital letters remained some bullseyes that hit far too close to the chest. Steve only prayed that they’d missed the mark on Tony this time. 

Steve moistened the pad of his finger on his tongue, flipping through until he found even more pictures of the man. He hardly had a chance to survey the page before a loose, ripped leaf slipped out and onto his lap. Hesitantly, Steve pinched the magazine page between his fingers and lifted it to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tony was in the left corner, pictured in dim lighting. His hair hung shaggy over his face, spittle smeared over the side of his mouth. His pupils were pinpricks despite the dark lighting and he work a sleepy smile, a woman draped over his shoulder. But that wasn’t what chilled Steve to the bone. There were doodles strewn over the page, notably a crude moustache and devil horns scribbled over the picture in sharpie. Multiple lines of the article were as blacked out as a confidential S.H.I.E.L.D. report. Steve felt a lump grow in his throat- 

A shatter. Steve’s gaze shot up from the magazine and he was on his feet before he even had a chance to slide it aside. Tony’s fingers on his good hand gripped tightly to the countertop, white-knuckled and tense. His body faced away from Steve, various shards of ceramic laying like corpses strewn out over the tile. Steve didn’t ask any questions, instead side-stepping over the sharp pieces and reaching out to clasp Tony’s shoulder. 

“You alright, Stark?” He managed, leaning forward to inspect the man’s face. He almost startled at the sight of the stitched face and bruises over Tony’s eyes- he’d almost forgotten that they were there. 

“Fine,” Tony replied quickly, his gaze darting to meet Steve’s quickly, then bouncing back to his hands tight over the countertop. “J-just dropped it.” 

“Okay, uh,” Steve began, chewing on his lip as he looked over the floor again. Tony’s sock feet were surrounded by the sharp edges, the man trembling so much that Steve could visibly see it. Suddenly afraid that Tony would lose balance or worse, he fixed both his hands over Tony’s shoulders. “Here, let me lift you.”

“Steve-“

“Tony, really,” Steve insisted, meeting his gaze. “I have shoes on, at least- and I don’t trust you to stand right now, to be honest.” The larger man gave him a once over, sucking in a deep breath. “Uh, okay, this might hurt a bit.” He gently turned Tony toward him and slid one arm beneath him, the other going to support his back. He lifted the man with ease, not without a small noise of protest from Tony and his broken ribs. “Sorry, sorry,” Steve muttered quickly, side-stepping back over the shrapnel and taking Tony to the couch, setting him down with all the care that he possibly could manage. Even so, Tony groaned in pain. “It didn’t get you? The glass, I mean.”

Tony shook his head, eyes falling closed almost in an expression of concentration. He waved his hand dismissively. When Steve began to walk back to the scene, Tony quickly caught his wrist with surprising grip, continuing to shake his head ‘no’. 

“D-don’t,” he started, “I’ll tell DUM-E to take the elevator up and he can sweep up the mess- I need you to get something for me.“

“Tony,” Steve chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips. Tony’s eyes blinked open in surprise at the sudden change in mood, frowning. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s fine.” He shook himself free of Tony’s hold.

Steve didn’t know what Tony had been on about; it took him far less than three minutes to gather all of the pieces into a dustpan- however, it did take him around seven just to _find_ a broom on the entire floor of the tower. Of course, he should have expected Tony to have some fancy disposal. He dropped the shards into what looked to be a garbage can only to see them disappear from sight into what he could only assume was some sort of black hole that led into the vacuum of space and spat out the ceramic somewhere near Jupiter, knowing Tony. 

“Steve,” Tony called and the man probably wouldn’t have heard the weak, raspy voice if not for his super hearing. He was at Tony’s side in a moment, looking down at the frail form. Tony had clearly gone into a feverish descent, though from what Steve didn’t know. His brow had broke out in a sweat, eyes blinking far too quickly. Steve knew that it killed the other to let himself be seen in such a state. However, he had hid it well up until such a point. “I-I… I need you to get me, um-“ he broke off, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

“What?” Steve urged, frowning deeply.

“Y’know those pills the doc gave us? I need you to get ‘em.”

Steve nodded in understanding, thinking nothing of the request. His eyes scanned the room, finding where he had thoughtlessly placed the paper bag by the elevator doors. He gathered the large pill bottle in his hand and crumpled the bag, discarding it into that black hole with the broken mug. He went to fill a cup, but was interrupted.

“I don’t need water. Step to it, man-with-a-plan,” Tony insisted rudely , extending his arm over the arm of the couch and making a pinching motion with his fingers as if to say ‘give them to me’. 

Steve disregarded the words and filled a glass anyways, setting both on the floor so that he could help the man into a seated position, not without great difficulty in Tony’s state. Tony gladly grasped the pill bottle and not-so-gladly held the glass. Upon handing him both the items, Steve thought better of it and took back the glass upon seeing the liquid tremble with the shaking of Tony’s hands. He held it patiently as Tony scrabbled to twist off the lid with his one good hand, fingers slipping uselessly along the cap. In normal circumstances, he would have covered up the weakness with a poor-taste joke. Instead, he just became more and more visibly frustrated.

“Fuck!” He cursed, jaw locking in an expression of anger. Steve’s stomach flipped at the exclamation and he pulled the bottle from the trembling hand, setting down the glass so that he could easily twist the cap off himself, passing the open container to Tony. Then, he watched in slight horror as Tony simply grabbed an unknown amount of the white pills and tossed them back, swallowing before Steve could stop him. 

“Tony!” Steve all-but gasped, eyebrows practically in his hairline as he snatched the bottle back. “Jesus, Tony! How many did you take?” Steve’s thoughts began to race, completely and utterly shocked by the sudden fit of rage. The pills in Tony’s hand had to be at least five or more.

“Don’t you get it, Rogers? Y-you think I spent all those months hanging my face over the toilet in between missions b-because of a perpetual hangover?” He challenged, gaze filled with some manic desperation. 

Steve felt his mouth run dry. “Tony-“

“Stop!” Tony interrupted, getting to his feet in a less-than-graceful fashion. He tripped over his right foot, struggling not to let the wince on his face show. “I-I don’t want you here! You wanted to know why I called you last night? Because you were the only one who hasn’t seen me fucked up so bad that y-you change your goddamn cellphone number and move states.” Tony’s raw, hoarse voice echoed off of the expansive walls until the sound died out, leaving a chilling and cold silence. “So… so you can go now.” Tony swallowed hard, throat straining at the movement. He turned away from Steve, still clinging onto Steve’s jacket around his shoulders. “You’ve served your purpose and you can go home f-feeling good about yourself. You’ve done your good samaritan act for the day, spandex.”

Steve’s mouth remained slightly parted, willing even a whisper to come from between his lips. Instead, he was met with only dry air on his tongue, air that was suddenly far too thick for his lungs to adjust to adequately. He abruptly felt like an asthmatic teen again, pursing his mouth around a puffer during gym class. “Do…” he began uncertainly, a hot and uncomfortable tightness welling in his chest and throat. “Do you think that’s why I came? B-because I… I felt bad for you?”

Tony continued to face forward, staring emptily out the window. His shaking had died down if only slightly and his shoulders had come down from his ears, a still silhouette against the morning light. He shrugged in response. Then there was nothing. There was more heavy, heavy silence. 

Steve took it as his cue to leave the room.

 


	3. quiet, but I'm sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve gives an AI the silent treatment and promises that he isn't leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: Absolute by The Fray
> 
> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry

At least Steve’s room was nice, he supposed. Of course, he did have full sole choice over which of the forty guest rooms in the place. He selected the closest room to Tony’s, one that sat just one floor below the penthouse suite. It was complete with its own full bathroom and kitchen, a king sized bed placed directly in front of a large, flatscreen television. Steve wouldn’t be using that and the room was far too high-brow for his taste, but he sacrificed his modesty in order to be closer to Tony- in case of emergency, he assured himself. 

It didn’t take too long for him to settle in with Jarvis having sent Tony’s personal hired hands to retrieve enough clothes and necessities for him to stay for at least a month. Steve felt a discomfort at imagining men in suits going through his sock drawer, but surrendered to the complexity of it all. The men offered to unpack, but Steve wasn’t _that_ compliant. 

_“Captain Rogers, I would recommend that you take time to rest. My observational intelligence is detecting fatigue and stress.”_

Okay, so maybe Steve practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice, drawing in a sharp breath and tensing in place, prepared instinctively for combat. He cursed his programmed, heightened senses, ears burning red with shame despite that only the AI was around to witness.

“How can you even know those things?” Steve asked out loud, a technology-induced headache pounding just behind his eyebrows. He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. _Damn robot._

_“My protocols command me to monitor the health and safety of those whom Sir has instructed me to protect.”_

Steve felt his cheeks flush at the words. Tony had instructed Jarvis to watch out for him? He dismissed the thought, convincing himself quickly that it was nothing to be read into too deeply. “That’s kind of intimidating.” Steve said instead, gaze flickering around the room as if in search of a physical embodiment that he could address.

_“Don’t be intimidated; I am instructed to promote your overall well-being as well as general comfort.”_

“Does Stark hear about all these things that you pick up on?”

_“I must convey relevant information to Sir, yes. However, I wouldn’t worry about his attentiveness. I have learned that he’s not one to pay much attention to what he decides is trivial.”_

Steve scoffed to himself, a smirk tugging at his lips as he read into Jarvis’ words and almost heard a note of irritation. He knew that he was likely imposing his own emotions onto the AI, since it was only an AI, but it struck him as funny nonetheless. “What about him? Do you monitor him just as closely?”

_“Yes, Sir has implanted devices into his forearm which not only control the Iron Man suit, but also detect vital signs.”_

There was a pause as Steve mulled over this information, pressing his lips tightly together. He inhaled deeply, thinking. “Is he okay, then? Can you tell me that?”

_“I’m afraid that I cannot relay information about Sir’s health unless it directly impedes upon the greater good or his ability to be of service to the team.”_

If there was one thing that the man did not expect, it was the sheer wave of emotion which capsized at the robotic voice, practically bristling with irritation. ‘The greater good?’ ‘His service to the team?’ Steve knew that it was completely irrational to become angry at a damn _robot_ for Christ’s sake, but he could hardly help himself in that instant.

“Why, then?” He challenged, voice hushed despite the staggering amount of malice within it. “Why didn’t you tell me that he was in pain?”

_“My sensor technology did not sense that he was physically unwell at all until the accident. Was there an injury that I was unaware of?”_

At first, Steve wanted to roar in frustration something like _‘how could you not have known?! How could you not tell me that he was hurting?’_ But all be damned, if Steve himself couldn’t understand Tony, he couldn’t expect a being who thought in ones and zeros to comprehend the true nature of pain; the pain that lay within the mind.

Steve said nothing.

 

 

————————————————————

 

There was some driving force behind Steve’s footsteps as he descended the steps into Tony’s workshop. He would never be able to put a pin on it, but it was something nagging and hollowing; something that peeled his eyelids open even when he laid as still as a corpse in his bed. Tony wanted to be left alone- that was fine. That was fine, right? He’d had no trouble leaving the genius alone before so why not now? It was fine. Fine.

He would have simply asked Jarvis where Tony was instead of going up to the penthouse, then down to the kitchen, then to the main lobby floor, then down to the workshop finally, but he had decided that he had done enough talking to the omniscient voice for the day. Maybe Tony could grow used to a set of all-seeing eyes on the back of his neck but Steve balked at the idea. He couldn’t trust something like that, something made by an impulsive and disordered maker. Tony may have been a genius, but he was a manic genius; he was dangerous.

“Ah, ah, Stevie Wonder, the sign says ‘stay out’!” Tony protested once he heard the door click open, spinning around on his chair and putting a finger out as if to shush Steve. The larger man frowned and ducked, looking back behind him. Sure enough, a crude sign consisting of sharpie scribbled onto a lined page was taped to the glass door.

“If you didn’t want me to come in, couldn’t you have just told Jarvis to keep me out?”

A pause. “I… didn’t think of that.”

Steve huffed out a frustrated breath, realizing suddenly that Tony was certainly not in his right mind. Upon closer inspection, Tony looked even more worn out than earlier, though his energy remained bubbly and driven. He looked as though he’d been involved in yet another crash, looking as though he had two black eyes for how dark and deep the circles around them were. However, the tremors had stopped completely and he no longer was a sickly shade of green from before, strangely recovered. His pupils were pinpricks swimming in his irises.

“What’d you take?” Steve muttered bitterly, fists clenching at his sides.

“Nothing,” Tony responded cooly, leaning back in his chair as if to be deliberately mocking. “A drink or two.”

“You’re not supposed to drink with that medication and-“ Steve broke off, slapping a hand to his forehead frustratedly. “God, Tony! Could you at least act like you cared? I don’t have the energy for this.” It was true. No matter how Steve wanted to help, Tony was clearly in no state or mood to be receptive.

“Then leave,” Tony invited, sweeping an arm and making a bowing motion. When he tried to recover, his torso swayed to the side and he nearly fell off his chair, wincing at the bite in his ribcage. “Look, I’ve gotta finish working on this design before I lose my inspiration so chop-chop, get to it.”

“You’re so drunk, Tony,” Steve sighed hopelessly, feeling his shoulders physically sag with exhaustion. All he wanted was to sleep, to lay down and deal with Tony’s antics in the morning. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Tony in this state before- no, Tony was typically a mile higher than everyone else in a number of ways. It was only now, though, that he was learning the intent and chemicals behind it. “Come upstairs to bed.”

“Oooh,” Tony cooed, spinning back around and using his good arm to continue typing into a keyboard at a speed that was far too fast for someone typing with one hand. Steve stepped closer to see that he was punching nonsense into the computer system. “If you wanted me so bad, you could’ve asked.”

“Tony.”

“Yes, oh Captain, my Captain?”

“Turn and look at me.”

“Kinky.”

Steve felt his jaw lock and almost in absence of his will, he felt himself begin to move toward the man. he fixed his arms on both Tony’s shoulders and spun him around, crouching to stare him dead in the eyes. An expression of fear, then that shock was easily masked by a cheesy Cheshire grin that was slightly too off kilter to convince. 

“Tony,” Steve tried again, drilling holes through Tony’s eyes with his own gaze. “Are you a heroin addict?”

“What?” A look of utter and complete shock crossed Tony’s face.

“Well…” To be honest, Steve had no _clue_ what a heroin high would look like so… maybe this was it? The tabloids had said it after all and maybe they’d been right. All that Steve knew was that Tony’s state was certainly not alcohol induced alone. “The magazine on the table… it said something about you being a heroin addict. I-I know how ridiculous they can be but, I don’t know, I thought maybe…”

Tony stared for a moment, blinking and blinking. Then, that same smile came back again and he grinned, shoulders bobbing up and down in a mocking chuckle. He shook his head, laughter coming louder and louder until Steve finally back off of him, a look of disgust crossing over his face. This… this wasn’t Tony like Steve knew him. 

“Heroin? Really?” Tony managed, his good hand going to clutch at his surely aching ribs. “You went straight to heroin? Jesus, Steve.”

“I’m serious, Tony. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re getting your information from tabloids now? Oh, sugar, even Pepper’s tits are less fake than that wad of bullshit. If only ol’ deadbeat Howard could hear his hero now.” It wasn’t funny anymore. Tony was then shoving Steve back weakly considering that he only had one arm to do so. “Leave me the alone for your own good, Steve. Just… just go, alright? Go home.” There was a sudden note of mourning buried in Tony’s voice and Steve wanted nothing more than to chase it out.

“Does it look like I’m leaving?”

———————————————————

“You do know that this is new for me, right?”

“What is?”

“Sleeping.”

Tony was perched on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed underneath him in a position that would be far too awkward for Steve to stand himself. He was stripped down to a white t-shirt and floral print boxers which Steve would have teased him for in any other circumstance. It had been a little more than difficult to put the shirt on, given the injuries, and to sling the cast back into place. Tony seemed immune to the pain throughout anyhow. 

“Okay, well, this will have to be a first, then,” Steve insisted, gesturing to the empty bed. Tony released a frustrated sigh, doing his best to crawl to the pillows and slip beneath the deep red, fluffy covers. “You alright now?”

Tony nodded, heavy eyes still darting here and there under an ever-present influence. Steve had tried to touch him as little as possible; the trembling had come back and if he focused, Steve swore he could feel the palpitations of Tony’s already-strained heart. The sensations caused him to have his _own_ heart palpitations. Despite the affirming gesture, Tony still remained unsure, not taking any motion to actually _lie down_ so that Steve could sleep in peace. 

“You’re going to sleep?” Steve asked once more, tilting his head downward to shoot the other an expectant expression. Tony nodded again, blinking idly.

“Yeah, I just, uh…” he stammered, biting down on his lip. “I, uh, thought maybe you could just stay here? You know, nothing weird. Just in case, um…”

Steve felt his heart leap into his throat at the offer and he tensed, unconsciously tightening his fists at his sides. He looked down to his shoes on the clean, clean floor, scuffling there slightly in thought. Tony didn’t want it to be weird but it was. No, it wasn’t weird, was it? It was just Tony. Just Tony.

Silence.

“Uh,” Steve began, cursing himself for his weak, uncertain responses once again. “I, uh, think I kind of want to sleep in my own bed. Well, not my own, but- you get it, right?” He tried not to visibly wince at the other man’s deflated expression. It was at that moment that he realized that it wasn’t weird. No, Tony didn’t mean it to be weird. “Tony… why do you want me to stay? I-I need to hear it.”

Tony’s eyebrows creased together in a pained look, fingers on his good hand pulling idly at a loose thread on his shirt. Twirling, twirling nervously. “Nevermind,” he forced out, shaking his head for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’s nothing. I-I didn’t want it to be weird. Okay, capsicle?” Tony tried to cover up the discomfort with a grin, rolling his shoulders back and releasing a breath.

“Is it… is it because you can’t sleep?” Steve didn’t ask because it was a lucky guess. It hit far too close to home- and he knew the fear of isolation all too well not to recognize its grinning teeth around Tony’s throat.

Nothing, then a simple nod. 

For the second time in twelve hours, Steve allowed his shaking knees to take him to the light switch.

 


	4. come on and skin me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable bath scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter:
> 
> Ball Cap - Mother Mother
> 
> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry

To be honest, Steve had no _clue_ just how Tony managed to slip out of bed, what with Steve being the lightest sleeper known to man. After all, he did have ears that could hear a damned sneeze from ten floors up. Even with his keen hearing, he needed far less sleep than the average man and wouldn’t have assumed that he would sleep all throughout the day. Instead, he was roused by a guttural sound from the next room after seven hours of deep sleep.

He didn’t really have to get out of bed to know what was happening- he could regretfully hear perfectly well from the bed. However, he still forced his legs under him and stumbled to the master bathroom, cracking the door open to peer inside. Tony was trembling, clinging to the toilet seat and losing what looked like his lunch from the past three years. Despite the situation, he appeared to be relatively calm- exhausted, but calm.

“You alright?” Steve asked gently once Tony’s initial sickness had passed, struggling not to wince as Tony spit into the toilet and sat back, wincing as he clutched his side. 

“Dandy,” Tony dismissed, sucking in a lungful of air. He used the countertop to support him, flushing and turning to the sink to rinse his mouth. Steve pushed the door open further, leaning on the doorframe as he surveyed Tony. The man’s hair looked painfully matted, sticking this way and that with no purpose or position. It was clear that he was far overdue for a shower.

“We should probably get you in the bath,” Steve recommended, tilting his head slightly. Tony chuckled weakly, sniffing as if sick. 

“Still trying to get me out of my undies, Cap? Y-you can just ask, you know,” he mused. Steve huffed and shook his head in disapproval, ignoring the comment.

“I’m serious, Tony. You’re not going to be having showers for at least a month and I hardly trust you to walk, let alone get into a tub.” 

Tony paused, holding Steve’s gaze for a moment before he shook his head in dismay, _tsk_ ing under his breath. “Jarvis?” He called out expectantly.

_“Turning on hydraulics in master bathroom one.”_

As if by magic, water spouted from the large tap and began to fall down into the bathtub in a ridiculous, overdramatic waterfall that could only be expected of in Tony Stark’s bathroom. The man looked pleased with himself, smirking slightly before quirking and eyebrow and turning on his heel.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some Pepto for this stomachache.” Tony announced, exiting the bathroom and leaving Steve to stand awkwardly and uncomfortably in the bathroom. Steve had a feeling that the man was fetching a lot more than Pepto Bismol- the sickness was nothing like a hangover and was certainly not an affect from his injuries. Steve didn’t know much about medicine, but he knew that a broken wrist wouldn’t cause Tony’s stomach to try expelling itself out of his mouth like it had. Still, he stood helplessly, regretting having let Tony go. 

“Jarvis?” Steve called, breaking his silent treatment toward the AI. 

_“What might I do for you, Captain Rogers?”_

“When are the others coming back to the place?”

_“I cannot say quite how long. I only can initiate direct contact with Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, and Dr. Banner at this time. Would you like me to request information?”_

Steve paused. Was this really too much for him to handle on his own? He’d fought HYDRA face to face and had survived seventy years after careening a craft full of bombs into the ocean. Could he really not handle taking care of one man by himself?

“Yes.”

_“Alright. I will get back to you as soon as I can offer anything of service, Captain. Is there anything else that I can do?”_

“What are you, chatting up my AI?” Tony’s sharp voice cut into Steve’s thoughts and his heart leapt as he swivelled to face the man, breathing out a breath of relief once he realized that there was no malice or awareness on Tony’s face; it was clear that he hadn’t heard the conversation. 

“Guess so,” Steve responded quickly, dismissively. “This is a nice bathroom.”

“Of course it is. It’s me.” Tony shrugged, flashing a comical expression that practically read, _‘what can you do?’_ Then, without any sort of warning, he began to strip down, releasing the strap on the sling and allowing it to fall to the tile. He rolled his shoulder, wincing. “A little help?”  
Steve grimaced, trying not to think of what would happen next. He stepped forward, finding the hem of Tony’s shirt and tugging upward, allowing for Tony to maneuver his cast out of the material. Once the shirt was discarded, Tony dropped the floral print boxers to the ground and _there it was._ Steve gulped and averted his eyes immediately, clearly uncomfortable. His gaze retracted upward and- _oh._ Steve suddenly felt quite sick. 

A large and angry scar cut down from Tony’s left collarbone to his right ribcage, just beneath the arc reactor which glowed steadily from his chest. It was wider near the middle and tapered out by the edges, white inflamed skin sticking up against the olive tone of Tony’s bare chest. He barely avoided shaking himself physically out of the sudden nausea that overcame him. He hadn’t cut past the Iron Man suit… right? Steve decided to unnerve himself with another thought.

“You know, you could, uh, keep those on.” Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, fingers tapping manically on his forearms as if to distract him. Tony’s dick was literally just _there_ and Steve was supposed to avoid getting red in the face?

“I had expected Captain America to be a prude, but you’re really living up to your reputation.”

Steve turned at this, eyes drawing down _there_ and he averted them quickly, staring down Tony. The man had a smug grin plastered on his face, those same pinprick pupils having returned.

“What do you mean? What reputation?”

“Well, you can’t blame them- you know, since Captain America is the pride and joy of the American people and all of its values-“

“What reputation?” Steve insisted, louder this time.

“You know, some around the watering hole have… speculated… that you’ve never put it in.” Tony’s expression was the picture perfect, carbon copy of a bratty child who'd just smudged black paint all over the kitchen walls. Naked. 

“That… that I’m a virgin?” Steve continued incredulously. He nearly bristled when Tony simply shrugged as a reply. “What-? W-why would anyone-“

“Well?” Tony interrupted, leaning forward expectantly. 

“ ‘Well’ what?”

“Is it true?”

“No!” 

Tony pursed his lips in a disappointed expression, crossing his own arms over his chest- just below where the arc reactor glowed- in a mirror image of Steve. “C’mon, stripes, are you pulling my leg?”

“No! I-I-“ Steve sputtered, arms thrown out suddenly to the side in an expression of shock. He didn’t even want to look into the floor-to-ceiling mirror beside them to see his horrified face. “Of course I’m not a virgin! I’m a grown man!”

“But you _are_ a hundred years old.”

“Well-“

“… and you spent about seventy of that in the ice.”

A relatively uncomfortable silence settled over them, Steve flustered and struggling to think up something to say. No, of course he wasn’t a virgin, but he surely didn’t want to reveal _that_ to Tony. Tony had his secrets, so Steve could have his own. Even though he knew that Tony had been outed as a raging bisexual a year after his “I am Iron Man” speech, he doubted the man would _ever_ let him live it down if he knew that America’s sweetheart swung the same way as he did. 

“I don’t want to talk about my sex life, frankly.” Steve mumbled, waving a hand dismissively. He reached over the edge of the tub to stop the water and sighed, thanking the Lord that Jarvis had somehow gotten the warm water bubbly- at least he wouldn’t be face to face with… while he tried to focus on getting Tony better. “Come on, in you go.”

“Dominant,” Tony mused, shouldering past the larger man and stepping in easily. “I like it.” Of course, he needed far more help to be lowered down, wincing as Steve helped him into a seated position. “A-ah, Jesus! Don’t rupture my goddamn spleen,” he protested at a relatively large bump, hissing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve apologized hastily, sighing in relief when he finally had lowered Tony enough so that the man wasn’t in immediate pain. _At least he’s stopped talking about my sex life, for Christ’s sake._

 

Steve began with washing Tony’s hair, gently soaping the strands and rinsing the bubbles into the tub. Throughout, Tony remained completely silent, seeming to be completely lost in his thoughts. Steve thought nothing of it- one would have to be stupid not to know that Tony was clearly under the influence of _something._ Neither men spoke until Steve had nearly finished, running his fingers though the wet strands. Tony’s eyes blinked open sluggishly and he sighed contentedly.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Steve continued to work at the task at hand, forcing himself not to think too deeply into the question. Clearly, Tony was referring to their dispute. Steve tried not to read into it; however, it was almost impossible not to sense the hurt in Tony’s voice. Steve had chosen Bucky- and now he was here acting as if he cared so deeply for Tony? It caused an uncomfortable welling in his chest which he simply didn’t have the energy to entertain. Why didn’t he come back? So many answers, so many.

“What do you mean?” Steve feigned innocence, focusing solely on rinsing the soap from Tony’s hair. _Keep working, keep working._

“You know,” Tony insisted gently. His tone was hauntingly far off, almost completely removed. “You could have come back. I would have forgiven you. I would have given you a place to stay.”

“I know,” Steve settled for saying, struggling to keep his tone even. “I… I just didn’t know what to say.”

 

Tony stayed silent. Steve wanted to pull a reply from the man’s mouth, to let Tony berate him and curse him out; it would feel better than the eerie quiet that came over them. Despite this, Steve couldn’t help himself. He was afraid. He was afraid to mess this up.

Steve helped Tony to stand up and dry off, waiting for Tony to pull his boxers back on before he allowed himself to properly look at Tony. 

“I didn't expect you to say anything.” Finally, the empty air was broken. “I would have taken you back anyways.”

Steve felt his breath hitch and he looked down to his feet, ashamed. Tony had apologized once he realized that Bucky had been framed- so when had Steve apologized? When was it his turn to take some blame?

“I wouldn’t have known what to say because I’m just… I’m so sorry.” Steve settled for saying, not raising his gaze. “You were the one who tried to keep everything together, who tried to stop the chaos before it all went to shit. I can’t blame you for what’s happened as a result.”

Of course Tony had settled into this lifestyle. Steve could fake being surprised for as long as he wanted but nothing could mask that he had seen this coming. Maybe to a lesser degree, but it had been a long time coming. There it was, the result of Steve’s carelessness. It was there in the marks on Tony’s sides, the jagged laceration that cut through his abdomen like a river, stitched sloppily by hasty doctors. It was in the bruises that bloomed over Tony’s chest and directly over his right ribcage, just where his ribs had snapped like brittle twigs under the weight of a crushed car. It was there always- and whether or not it was really Steve’s fault, he felt as though it had to be.

“I still believe that I did the right thing in the end,” Steve continued hesitantly, trying not to notice the grimace that crossed Tony’s face for barely a millisecond. “I used to think that the ends justified the means; now I see that I was so wrong.” Steve could feel something in him slip, something inside of his head begin to pound at his forehead- it was a grief that he could not seem to satisfy, that he had pushed down for the years that he spent in Wakanda and that sprouted up like weeds between a cracked and aged mind. “So wrong. And that’s why I never expect you to forgive me.”

A laugh came from Tony, his eyes lighting up with a sad sort of humour. He threw his head back, chuckling briefly before he maintained himself, ruffling a hand through his wet hair. The outburst was genuine, that smile that few ever saw from Tony stark; the kind where a grin was pulled across his rugged face and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. Somewhere in there, though, there was deep pity- for Steve or for himself, he didn’t know. 

“Don’t you get it?” Tony questioned, flickering gaze finally resting still on Steve’s face. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

 

_But you never forgave yourself._

 

 


	5. got its sights set on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is quite messy so sorry about that haha.
> 
> Song for this chapter:
> 
> South by Sleeping At Last

 

They were the only two in the place, so Steve didn’t need to turn when he heard the elevator begin to whirr, signalling that Tony was moving about somewhere in the place. Steve hadn’t expected that he would sleep, especially since it was only 11 PM- which, Steve had learned, was practically 3 PM for Tony Stark. He was probably on his way down to his workshop to tinker away endlessly and manically unit Steve came to drag him to bed. The man kept his gaze down to where the only light in the dark room shone, a lamp curled to aim directly at the page in his lap. He focused himself and continued to shade in the dips and curves of the portrait’s upper lip. 

The elevator doors slid open, illuminating the glossy floor directly in front of the elevator. Steve did look up this time, having not expected to see Tony willingly in his space. Yet, there he was, somehow finding Steve on the fourth out of god-knew-how-many spacious living rooms in the place. He took a moment to find his footing before lumbering toward Steve, the doors sliding shut behind him. The man wore the same sloppy clothes that Steve had changed him into, a baggy cat t-shirt and some black sweatpants. He seemed to be having trouble maneuvering his bare feet in the darkness.

“Jesus-“ he exclaimed shortly, tripping over something on the floor. “Why’re you sitting in the dark?”

“It’s easier to focus,” Steve offered, a quizzical expression donning his face as he looked up from his sketchpad, the smaller man coming into the full view of the lamp. “What can I help you with?”

“Can’t I come to say hi?” Tony plopped himself down beside Steve, releasing a breath of exhaustion and leaning his head back against the pillow, eyes falling closed. Steve’s eyebrows only cast an even darker shadow over his blue gaze.

“Um, yeah,” Steve replied, retracting his stare from Tony’s face and directing it back to the task at hand. 

Silence from Tony. Steve pursed his lips slightly and continued to sketch, making careful lines across the page. They sat in that surprisingly comfortable quiet for a while before Tony’s eyelids opened and he looked down to the pad of paper, eyebrows raising just slightly and blinking sleepiness from his gaze. Steve couldn’t quite see the size of his pupils- most of him would rather not know.

“Who’s the lady? You never told me you had a girlfriend.” The tone was teasing, but something inside the words was cut with an edge- for what reason, Steve didn’t know.

“Nah,” Steve responded, allowing for the corner of his lip to lift in amusement. “It’s just a lady I knew back in the day.” The woman didn’t have all of the life that she used to with only the bones of the sketch laid firm. He had the shape of the face, the eyes, the way that the nose peaked up just slightly at the end. Now, he added the shadows beneath her youthful face. “I, uh… I draw things from back then. I didn’t have any pictures when I woke up so it’ll never look just right but… I can try.”

Tony pressed his lips together in an interested look, nodding in understanding. “Romantic,” he decided out loud.

“No, not like that, really. I draw regular things from back then too, not just people. My motorcycle, the view from my bedroom window… all of those things.”

“Romantic, I mean, just… the idea. It’s romantic.” Tony explained quickly, gaze resting lazily on the page in Steve’s lap. “I like it.”

Steve hadn’t really expected that from Tony. He’d moreso expected mockery or jokes cracked at his expense. Instead, there was a surprising amount of sympathy- no, empathy- in the other man’s expression. “I thought you’d think it’s stupid,” Steve chuckled weakly, resting his fingers against the grainy surface of the paper. A small hum of laughter came from the other, one of mutual agreement and understanding, almost.

“No,” Tony disagreed, shaking his head slightly. “I like it. I… I get it.”

“What do you mean?” Steve prompted. Quite honestly, he prepared for the worst- for Tony to pull away and stalk off to bed.

“You know, just…” Tony paused, searching for the right words. “I know what it’s like to want to go back to when shit was easier. ‘You can’t repeat the past.’” Tony smirked at the reference.

“‘Can’t repeat the past? Why of course you can!’” Steve’s face lit up, the literary quote springing from his lips. “I didn’t know you liked to read.”

“Are you joking, pops? The Great Gatsby is an All-American classic during this century.” Tony scoffed. “Also, um, I’m one of the world’s greatest geniuses of our time; Fitzgerald is toilet reading to me.”

“Don’t sprain your wrist jerking yourself off.” Steve replied easily. Tony’s mouth dropped comically and he coughed out a laugh.

“Was that a masturbation joke from _my_ pure Captain America?”

Steve didn’t reply. He lightly returned Tony’s grin before angling his blush downward to the paper. The lower lip had just begun to take shape, soft and real. Not real enough. It was once the drawings were done, once he had hung them or set them by the window to catch light or slid them into pressed pages that the mourning came. Not real enough. Not real.

“I feel like him- Gatsby. Reaching to the green light and when I finally have it within my reach-“ Steve stopped, thinking. “I realize it’s all already behind me.” There was a silence as Tony pondered a response.

“Some people think- or know, rather- that Nick Carraway is gay.”

“What?” Steve echoed incredulously. Tony’s lips split into a smile.

“You have to read between the lines, Cap. Do you think that he just went out for coffee with that guy he took home after Tom and Myrtle’s party? The elevator scene is full of phallic innuendo.” Tony said, nudging the man’s side. “Though I’m sure your prude ass would love to ignore all of _that_.” He rolled his eyes, arm fumbling clumsily as he tried to gross it over the casted one. There was something guarded behind his expression. 

Steve shook his head slowly, lips pressed in disappointment- Tony would have assumed it was disappointment with the book but really, it was with Tony. Would he expose himself further? Steve glanced at Tony, surveying his bitter and broken expression. Watching that Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow was all that it took.

“You know,” Steve began gently, “not everyone in my time was straight.”

Tony rolled his eyes in irritation. “Please, treat me a little more like an idiot-“

“Tony,” Steve chuckled, sighing out a long breath. “Read between the lines: not everyone in my time was straight.”

It took a moment before realization seemed to set in and Steve wished that he knew how to operate a camera simply to capture the moment directly before Tony’s face flooded with newfound knowledge. He briefly wondered how often this look crossed the man’s face, the man who seemed to know everything. Somehow, that made it all the more valuable. He blinked hard once, then twice, then a smile lifted his bearded face.

“Oh my god, Rogers! Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Don’t tell me-“

“Yes, Tony, but I don’t make a big deal out of it, alright? So let’s keep it on the down low.” Steve stressed, gesturing in front of him as if in a calming movement. The giddy expression on Tony’s face faded from manic and Steve allowed for himself to return it. 

“I can’t believe it! I didn’t think I could be the only queer in our posse,” Tony wondered aloud, tapping his chin with a single thoughtful finger. “Never, _ever,_ expected you, spandex. We’re two birds of a feather now, you and I.”

“Keep it on the down low, Tony,” Steve repeated, staring into Tony’s pools of brown with his own blue ones. Really, he could only see the general iris of Tony’s eye in the poor lighting and wasn’t able to stress himself over the size of Tony’s ever-fluctuating pupils. 

Steve angled his face downward once more as Tony bumped into him, swaying their bodies together comically. Once the smaller man had sensed the quiet in the space between them, he seemed to settle himself, mulling over the information in his own mind. He retracted from Steve to give the man comfortable distance. They remained this way for a few passing moments. Even though the space made Steve’s breaths come easier (why that was so, he wasn’t sure), he still felt some agitation stirring within him as he felt the tremors beginning to come back to Tony’s bones. The man was falling from a high, that was certain- and it bothered Steve to no end that he couldn’t do anything to help.

“You know,” Steve sighed finally, raising his gaze from the page to meet Tony’s. “I’ve told you _two_ things about me within the past ten minutes. Maybe you could return the favour.”

“What? Are we gonna play two truths and a lie? I may have the temperament of a ten year old girl, but I would much prefer something a bit more adult.” Tony answered smartly, oblivious as Steve continued to urge a confessional out of him. At such a point, the tension within Steve’s chest had become near unbearable, an aching. What would happen if he couldn’t do anything? What if Tony, the bright Tony who’d just accepted his coming out with far more grace than anyone ever expected of him would end up in the hospital once again- and for far worse than a car crash?

Steve set his pencil on the pad, sliding the surface against the couch and settling it on the arm of the chair. With conviction now, driven completely by a bead of moisture which had sprung forth on his brow, he turned to wholly face the other man, fixing his arms on the other’s shoulders. Steve crossed his legs in front of him almost in an anchoring position, his full attention laid on the other. Tony blinked in surprise at the sudden change, drawing back in an animalistic instinct. He flinched. Steve didn’t want to read too much into that.

“I’m serious.” Those two words were enough to shake Tony back to reality and out from his humorous daze which he guarded himself so passionately with. “I’m here because I care about you- and I’m going to be staying here until this-“ he made a waving gesture at Tony’s frame, shaking now with far more conviction. “- is all fixed and done for. Trust me in that it would be so much easier if you’d just tell me the truth.”

“What truth?” Tony challenged, his once carefree and amused expression overshadowing with the same closed off guard that Steve had seen so often. “So that you can thrust another shield through my chest and leave me to die in Siberia?” Tony growled and _there,_ that hurt. The man knew exactly which points to hit, it seemed.

“Tony,” Steve began helplessly. He didn't have a chance to continue.

“No! I’m sick of it. Do you have any idea how much it took for me to trust you? I trusted you and you quite _literally_ left me to die- so don’t you dare lecture me on trust.” Tony stumbled to his feet in a flailing and almost painful show of clumsiness, stalking back from the couch. He tripped over a table leg and cursed loudly, clapping his hands twice. A set of lamps beside another couch flickered on, allowing for a very dim flood of light to illuminate the room. “You’re sick, Rogers. Do you just wait for people to open up and then you feed, hm? I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me to trust you.” If Tony had full control over his casted limb at such a point, Steve would have expected that he would have balled his fists and shoved them into his pockets. Instead, the poor, moody man was forced to only push one palm into his pocket, hanging his head low and stalking toward the elevator. His bare feet scuffled at the floor.

“Tony!” Steve called, rising to his feet and following after the other. “I just want to help you! I just want to understand.”

“You can’t understand! How could you?” Tony’s face was red and angry as he turned back to face Steve, clearly struggling to remain in control. His body was aflame with betrayal- or was that just the drugs? Tony’s face had flushed, shivering and sniffling in a fit of what looked like sickness. 

“Then help me!” Steve exclaimed, unable to stop himself from throwing his arms out emphatically. A deep longing settled in his chest and he nearly screamed with frustration- not only at Tony, but at himself. Why was he so hellbent on helping? Why did he even care? “Tony, I just wanna know! Why did you crash that car, please, just tell me! Why-“

“ _Because I’m fucking dying, is that what you want to hear?!”_

Silence.

For what felt like three minutes, the room had completely frozen over. Steve would have pinched himself if not for the tension, just to ensure that he hadn’t fallen into the Pacific once again. Tony stood almost equally shocked, likely reflecting back the exact same image that Steve bore, his lips having confessed of his own accord. He only became aware of his body after the initial, fear-driven shock had rattled out of his bones, closing his lips which had been hanging open numbly.

“What…?” Steve murmured weakly, expression falling into a frown of deep concern. “I-I… is it the palladium again? I thought you’d-“

“You’re so fuckin’ dull, Rogers,” Tony muttered, shaking his head sadly. “I-I’m not… I’m…” His words trailed away from him and he seemed to be grasping at the frayed ends, struggling to piece something, _anything_ together. “This is so much worse, Steve. It’s so much worse.” No nicknames, no humour. All was suddenly borne out into the open air and Tony _hurt,_ like a flesh wound or a burn. It hurt- and Steve could tell. “B-because I can’t tell if I want it or if I want to get better or-“

“Drugs?” Steve cut in, unable to help himself. He hadn’t even realized that he had sunk back down onto the couch at some point, hands sweaty on his knees. “It’s the drugs, isn’t it?”

Tony was comatose still for a moment, eyes staring intently down at his bare feet. His bottom lip slid in-between his teeth, chewing intently as if he could stave off some pain with another. He nodded in response. Steve felt his heart sink down somewhere in his gut.

“I-it’s not bad, Steve, it’s just-“ Tony broke off as his voice cracked, trying to steady himself. “It’s just, uh, prescription, right? Narcotics, uh, opioids. So, uh, not like cocaine or any of that stuff I-I used to… y’know, when I was young. They give it to patients all the time so, um… i-it’s not bad.”

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat, shakily standing and lumbering clumsily, slowly, over to the man. He stopped when he could adequately face the other with nothing in the way, but no closer. Tony stood, like a broken and frightened wild animal- Steve knew that he would hate himself if he scared the gentle creature away.

“It’s bad,” he murmured gently, unable to keep the confession from spilling from his own mouth. “Tony… it’s bad.” It was. He could see it in the way that Tony’s expression lost its luster only moments after it had returned, in the way that his hands shook when he struggled to steady himself. Steve could only imagine how Tony had lost ability to weld and type and screw down in his workshop.

Tony’s face paled at Steve’s words and he sniffed halfheartedly, curling his toes into the sleek floor. He watched there intently, staring and staring as if his staring downward would will Steve away. He sniffed again, rubbing a palm tiredly over his face and- oh, that wasn’t tiredness. Those was tears. Steve felt his stomach twist painfully and he practically leapt forward, only slowing once he was in arms length of the man. He stood for a moment, helpless and pondering what to do. He reached out a hand, deciding that a manly clap on the shoulder was appropriate. Tony flinched away immediately.

“Tony,” Steve murmured, heartbroken. “C-can I touch you, Tony? Please, I-I… I want to help.” No response came, only the small trembling of the man’s body, now not only fuelled by the drugs in his system but by the sheer emotion which rattled through him. Steve tried once more, hand ghosting over Tony’s shoulder. This time, Tony didn’t shy away- instead, he leaned into the touch.

After a moment’s time, Steve simply couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t empathetic, that he wasn’t heartbroken to see Tony in such a state. He pulled Tony gently toward him, leaving enough room for the man to escape if he so chose. He didn’t. He collapsed into Steve, still hiding his face in his hand shamefully.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled tearily, shaking his head and sniffling. He swiped his good wrist across his cheeks, raising his head up and pulling away slightly. “D-don’t know what the hell that was. All’s fine and dandy, cap.” It was clear that nothing was fine or dandy. Despite his feigned smile of confidence, his lips quivered and his eyes still brimmed red and teary.

“It’s not,” Steve insisted quietly, gazing intently at him. “It’s not okay, Tony- and that’s fine. You… you don’t have to be okay.”

Tony clearly wouldn’t make a move toward Steve, only an expression of clouded shame masking his expression. The tears flooded there, glossing over his reddened eyes though he made no movement. Steve stepped forward hesitantly and clasped their hands together- or, at least, Tony’s free hand. There was a silence. Tony’s face fell and he allowed his forehead to rest on Steve’s broad chest. His shoulders shook.

Steve’s unoccupied hand fell just over the nape of the other’s neck and he stayed, tracing circles into the trimmed hair. It was very nearly terrifying just how much Tony’s fingers shook in his own and he held tighter as if to will them to still. They didn’t. Steve’s vision clouded slightly so he cleared his throat and forced his eyelids to shut.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, willing to do _anything_ at such a point to stop those pitiful sniffles coming from the smaller man. “If I would have just-“

“J-just shut up,” Tony choked, voice weak and feeble. “I should have b-been better.” Steve’s lips parted, prepared to defend Tony but he was quickly shushed before he could. “I thought, it’s was a win-win. I-I survive the crash and get some more pills o-or I…” He didn’t have to finish- and Steve didn’t want him to.

“We can fix this,” Steve vowed, lowering his gaze to press his nose into the brunette hair. Coffee, machinery, and shampoo- it was perfect. “We’ll find a great rehab a-and-“

“No!” Tony began, a panic rising very quickly in his tone. “Please, Steve, please don’t.” His head shot upward and hit Steve’s face with a sharp sting. _Ow._

“Tony-“

“No, don’t fucking pawn me off to some nuthouse like they all have! I-I-I can’t do it- fuck, please-“ he was literally begging, hysterical and heaving tearful breaths. What was once were reddened cheeks were now blanche white, appearing sickly with anxiety. Steve’s stomach flipped, complete helplessness washing over him with the given situation. Tony’s fingers tightened in Steve’s.

“Shh,” Steve comforted, pulling him closely again. This time, Tony wrapped his arm around the large torso and clung, white-knuckled and laced onto the fabric of his shirt. “Okay. Okay. Take deep breaths with me,” he encouraged. He then attempted to copy the other’s earlier gesture, clapping twice. The light dimmed, then flickered out.

Steve somehow managed to sit them both on the couch once more, the smaller man tumbling awkwardly into his lap. He made no effort to move, so Steve held him against his own body tightly and securely, even when his good arm flailed and hit and tried to push him away. Steve had spent far too many PTSD-fueled nightmares next to Bucky not to be an expert in calming panic attacks- and Tony was far smaller and easier to manage than a mental-armed super soldier. Steve was used to this panic, yes, but at least with Bucky, he knew every trigger. Here, he was clueless. 

“Talk to me, Tony,” he urged, still holding the man close to him. Instead of an answer, all he received was a pitiful sob and a shake of the head. The man had somehow turned himself around in the struggle and now faced Steve. His palm pressed flat to Steve’s chest and he sniffled, pushing- or trying to push- his own torso away. “Okay. Okay.” Steve breathed anxiously, holding Tony there. “I-I’ll talk then.”

When Tony began to heave heavy breaths and tire out, Steve allowed for one hand to rest down on the small of his back. _Talk_ , he demanded inwardly, cursing his numb mind. _Anything._

“Bucky didn’t sleep for four nights in a row once.” Steve wasn’t sure how talking about Bucky would help their situation, but it seemed appropriate in the time. “He’s got PTSD too, you know. I think we… I think we all do. I-I ended up having to chase him for half a mile before I finally quit and waited for him to tire out. Found him crouched in the mud and scratching at himself until he bled. That’s only one of the times that I’ve had to pin him down and wait for the flashbacks to pass.”

There was a still moment, one in which Tony stopped his struggling and seemed to just listen, allowing his ear to press to Steve’s chest. He panted, exhausted and worn out. Since it seemed to have some effect, Steve continued.

Steve continued and they sat like that, cradling each other almost subconsciously and with no inhibitions, for what seemed like only moments. In reality, Steve felt his heart jump to realize that he had been rambling for around fifteen minutes, Tony clinging onto him and simply listening.

“… he never used to have nightmares. When we were kids, he was always the one to calm me down. Now, I’m the one who has- had-“ Steve didn’t even consciously correct himself. _He’s in the ice now. He’s gone._ “-to talk him down. Tony… I don’t know what you dream about- but I’m guessing it’s why you don’t sleep.”

Tony laughed, which shocked Steve for a moment. “I-I once called Pepper to t-tell her that I was kidnapped again.” Steve felt his breath hitch. To be completely honest, he knew _nothing_ about Tony’s time in Afghanistan. He’d never been briefed or read the files; it just never seemed necessary. Now he realized how valuable the information would have been. “She had been o-on a date. I was in the downstairs bathtub w-when she found me.” The chuckle that he released was raw, but Steve allowed himself to smile at the recollection. At least they both found some solace in their similarities. Tony’s breaths were still ragged. He still trembled- but at least he was trying.

“Once, I broke my own window because I thought Hydra was in my house.” 

“I used to panic every time they recapped our defeat of the Tchitari on the news. C-couldn’t watch television for six months.”

“I broke the only cellphone that I had because I thought it was bugged.”

“Was that the one I gave you?”

Steve winced. “Yeah,” he conceded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Sorry.”

“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you tell me? I couldn’t get ahold of you for weeks.”

“Didn’t know if you’d understand,” Steve admitted. “I-I guess I know now.”

A shaky grin crossed Tony’s expression and he shook his head slowly, drawing in a breath which hitched with uneven and suppressed hiccups. “Know that w-we’re both fucked up?”

Steve managed to ignore the crude cussing. “Guess so.” 

“You know that you have to let me help you- that is, if y-you’re still gonna help me- which will be here and not in any shitty rehab centre.” Tony warned. His body had finally begun to still, matching his breaths with Steve’s; he breathed out as Tony breathed in so that their torsos barely raised apart. “You’ve admitted your weaknesses and now I can push all of your buttons.”

Most would be unnerved by the words, but Steve knew that Tony’s tone was one of teasing. Steve just shook his head and ignored the other. “Are you okay now?” He could feel the other swallow hard, then nod hesitantly.

“I-I think so.”

“Can we talk about it then?”

Tony winced, his hand untangling from Steve’s t-shirt and coming to lay across his throat in a painful expression. Though he seemed significantly more relaxed, he still trembled even when he sat completely still. “What do you want to know?” 

“How long? H-how long has this been… going on?”

“God only knows,” Tony replied cooly. “Feels like forever. I’d say a while.”

Steve paused a moment, then huffed softly. He felt quite in over his head and with Tony’s refusal to seek inpatient help, he felt the burden all on his own. “If we’re going to do this,” he began gently, “I need you to be willing to at least visit a psychiatrist. You can’t do this with only my help, Tony. You need _something.”_

A moment of unmoving quiet. 

“You’ll come with me?” Tony’s voice sounded small, far off. Steve wasn’t in the state of mind to read into the request.

“If you want me to, I will.” Steve vowed, looking up to Tony’s blanched face. True, he could barely see the man through the dark, but he could see just where the light from the arc reactor illuminated the contours of his cheeks and jaw. He wanted to touch there, to cast shadows over the blue-hued skin. 

A smaller hand came to brush over Steve’s neck and he almost thought that it would stay there- _wanted_ it to stay there. Instead, Tony’s palm settled over his shoulder. “I’m all in, alright? Or I-I’ll try. I’ll try.” He repeated the words like a mantra, as if convincing himself. His index finger tapped morse code on Steve’s sleeve, a nervous tick. They smoothed over the t-shirt material there, then slipped over his collar. The skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt through Steve’s spine. 

Steve briefly considered leaning in, pressing their bodies together just to see what the result would be. It was almost as if Tony’s familiar aroma intoxicated him and though it remained a tempting gesture, he still felt an uneasy prickle where Tony had touched just above his collarbone. Steve flinched away. Tony cleared his throat.

“It’s late,” Steve stated suddenly, lips pressing into a thin line. “We should, uh, get up and head to bed.”

“C’mon, don’t get cold feet on me now,” Tony chuckled, though he pulled away nevertheless. However, he didn’t make any move to stand. 

“You… getting up?”

“I could get up,” Tony reasoned, shrugging. “Or you could use those biceps and carry me.”

“I’m not doing that.”

Tony’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “But I’m hurt,” he protested, cradling his side dramatically.

And that was all that it took.


	6. find me in the shallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a steamy shower. Tony is afraid to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lil' short.... but also a lil' steamy. Some good ol' fantasizing this chapter so WARNING: soft smut ahead
> 
> Song for this chapter:
> 
> Shallows- Daughter
> 
> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry

 

In the near-century that Steve had lived, he had never experienced _waking up_ next to someone. Of course, he’d experienced something similar during the war- but never something as peaceful as this. The morning light had filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows and Steve had no idea how he’d managed to sleep despite the lack of darkness. The waking was strangely peaceful, simply blinking his eyes open and gazing at a hazy ceiling fan as it whirred around and around. It, strangely, was not caused by a jolt or an unpleasant sensation crawling over his chest, dark, dark and _cold._

He almost didn’t expect to see a mess of brunette hair among the white sheets and if his dreams hadn’t startled him, the sight of Tony laying next to him certainly did. But there he was, facing away from Steve- just like he’d been doing for decades now. Part of the man wished, longed to see the way that the white-yellow hue of the sunlight illuminated his face, if it brightened the deep purple beneath the brown eyes. The flyaways of his messy bedhead illuminated the space around him in a blurred halo. It seemed ironic, and yet suited him. If only he could reach out to lay them down, to feel them slip in-between his fingers like sand or water or… or… 

Steve sat up abruptly. He slipped his legs out from under the covers and his bare feet hit the chilly floor, thanking the expensive mattress for the fact that his movements hadn’t woken the other. A long, drawn out sigh. A shake of his head to clear the thoughts away. He decided to take a shower on a different floor entirely.

The bathroom was nearly as pristine as the others that he had seen, though it had collected a thin sheen of dust due to being underused. Steve almost felt a pang of melancholy for the bathroom, in a strange way. He chuckled out loud at the thought and turned the shower knob. This bathroom was… different. It was schemed in red instead of white with the taps being gold instead of silver- whether painted or _actual_ gold, Steve didn’t want to know. He likely could have brought his mother and himself above the poverty line with just the doorknob.

He could almost imagine Tony in there, lounging about, doing something Tony-like such as discussing innovative, new ideas and thoughts with his AI. He’d mentioned that Fitzgerald was toilet reading; maybe rocket science was his in-shower entertainment. Steve began to undress and the image continued to play out in his mind; of Tony soaping his hair with his lithe, toned arms extended up and toward the ceiling. He fabricated an image of Tony leaning over to reach a fallen bottle of conditioner. He looked into the mirror to see a bad case of morning wood. He scoffed at his overwhelming human-ness.

Just as the water had begun to steam up the mirror and the sleek walls, he cranked the knob to cold and waved a hand beneath the chilly water before he remembered that, no, he wouldn’t appreciate having a flashback to his time in the ice so early in the morning- even if it was 11 AM. Begrudgingly, he dialled the knob back to lukewarm and finally allowed himself to step under the stream.

Quite honestly, it would be the first time that he had showered in quite a while. He had full intention to clean up until he received the distressing phone call and simply had been too preoccupied to do so. Finally, it felt like. Finally he could roll his shoulders away from his ears- stretch this way and that until the sore muscles eased beneath the warmth. His eyes fell closed, at first in an expression of relaxation, until he realized that the heat had done nothing to calm his racing hormones. When he looked down to his feet, his dick was just _there_ , waiting and begging for attention. 

Steve couldn’t help but mentally curse his own features. Of course, the serum had given him enhanced healing, superhuman strength and endurance, but it also gave him endurance in other areas- which would be fine so long as he had some outlet for all of that energy. Sadly, all that was left for him was just that; his left hand. And so, in the particular situation, he allowed for his hand to snake down to the length and fix over it, stroking slow, up and down. He allowed his eyelids to shut once again and focused his attention on creating a caricature of a young man- maybe some amalgamation of the young models he’d seen so often posted on billboards in this century. Brown hair, brown eyes, lithe figure…

His head hit the smooth tile wall, exhaling a deep breath through his slightly parted lips. A flexible man his age, dark in complexion or in features and kneeling on the shower floor, lips wrapped hotly and wetly over Steve’s pulsing length. In his mind’s eye, he watched this imagined figure as his head bobbed up and down, wide-eyed and staring upward to hold Steve’s steady gaze. The imagined man rested his palms on Steve’s thighs, caressing and squeezing until they reached around to the curve of Steve’s ass, pulling closer, and Steve bucked forward into his own hand. The mouth pulled off, licking a hot stripe along the bottom of the length.

_“You like that, Cap?”_

“Fuck,” Steve hissed out loud, brow falling as he felt his muscles tensing more and more progressively. His imagined spectacle gripped at his leaking and swollen length, tugging a few times and swiping a thumb over the dripping precum leaking from his slit. “I-I- fuck, I love it. Yeah,” he groaned softly, chewing hard on his bottom lip. “Fuck, Tony, fuck..”

Beneath him, his imaginary lover continued to rub his sensitive skin, a sly and knowing grin that fit his face all too well stretched over his lips. _“You want to come in my mouth? You want me to choke on your long, hard cock?”_

And, “yes, yes,” he chanted under his breath because of course the answer was yes. Of course, of course. The thin lips took in his length again, ensuring that Steve was watching completely before he swallowed Steve down whole and that was nearly enough to make him lose himself in that one moment. All that it took was a few more manic and erratic jerks before he spilled over his hand, arching up against the tile. “Oh, God, Tony,” he breathed heavily, panting desperately as he writhed up against the wall. 

Unfortunately, the moment passed nearly as quickly as it had come. Once his skin became red hot under his grasp and immediately unbearable in its oversensitivity, he dropped his hand away and sniffed halfheartedly, scrunching his nose at the sight of white streaks over the red shower curtains. He splashed water over the marks until they were mostly faded and finished his work quickly, struggling to push his momentary fantasy from his mind. It was just a fantasy. Just a thought.

After he’d towelled and stepped into fresh clothes, he slipped out and went for a _long_ run.

 

_____________________________________

 

_“Welcome back, Captain Steve Rogers. I would request that you make your way to Sir’s master suite as soon as is convenient for you.”_

————————————————————

 

“Tony?”

No response came from the other side of the door. Steve pressed his ear closely to the wood, listening for sounds. Heavy breathing, sniffling. He knocked softly once again.

“Tony, are you alright?”

A shallow cough, then more silence.

“Leave me alone.” 

So Steve sat outside of the door, lips pressed together as if to will himself to keep quiet. In the past, Steve would have dialled Nick Fury’s number and demanded, for the sake of America or some other stretched truth, that the man allow him to read Tony’s files. Fury would have scoffed, refused for a half-hour or lecturing, then eventually handed over the folder with some ultimatum or warning. Unfortunately, such a thing was no longer an option with S.H.I.E.L.D having been disbanded. Now, if there was any information, it was likely either hidden under government lock-and-key or had been burned up in a spectacular show of fire and explosions. 

“Tony?”

“I told you to go away.” The voice was strangely, hauntingly calm- raw. Steve wondered if Tony had been crying again. Steve ignored the request.

“Someday,” he began slowly, lowering himself so that he sat with his back pressed to the door, a mirror image of what he knew Tony was doing on the other side. He was struggling to keep his pounding heart from jumping into his throat and suffocating his words. “I want you to tell me about Afghanistan.”

“Why?”  
“Because maybe it’s a part of why you’re in that bathroom right now.”

There was a long silence- by now, Steve assumed that he would be used to long silences such as these. However, they never came easier at all and they simply seemed to unsettle him. He felt frozen again, helpless.

Tony sighed on the other side of the door. Then, “I thought you left this morning. Why didn’t you?”

The air fell from between Steve’s lips and he swallowed hard, not realizing how much Tony’s mind had been affected by simply disappearing. Immediate remorse shook him. While Tony had been waking up, Steve had been running away from his despicable attractions- and if only Steve had been able to keep it in his pants, maybe Tony wouldn’t have assumed that Steve had left him like ‘the others’ had. _‘Why didn’t you?’ not even, “why did you?”_ Tony expected that he would be left.

“Because I care about you.” Steve finally settled with, swallowing hard in order to fight back the lump in his throat as it threatened to well over into his words. 

“You care because I’m your team-mate and you have to, Rogers.” 

“That’s not why.”

“You care because you pity me.”

“That’s not why either.” 

Tony’s feet scuffled along the floor and Steve could almost hear his manic thoughts, calculating, calculating, calculating outliers and permutations as if he in himself were some sort of quadratic formula or complex equation that he just _couldn’t get right._ “So…. you care about me like a-a friend?”

Steve said nothing. Then, slowly, “I’m not sure.”

“Like… like less than a friend?”

“I… I don’t think so. I-I think-“ Steve cleared his throat in discomfort. If he hadn’t already pictured this happening a hundred times before, he might assume that his heart would explode all along his ribcage. It fluttered there, alive and so, so afraid. “I think… it’s complicated.”

“A bad kind of complicated?”

“No.” Steve shook his head despite that he knew Tony would not see the gesture. “I think it’s a good kind.”

 

The door creaked open.

______________________________________________

 

 

The sickness came that afternoon and Steve watched Tony crush up a pill called Vicodin, then inhale it off the surface of his dresser. Even Steve wasn’t naive enough to flush the medication and expect Tony to go cold-turkey immediately. One, he agreed; start with one to take the edge off.

It was just after that wherein Tony lost what non-existent contents of his stomach he had.The man closed his eyes in an almost sleepy expression and laughed. “At least I snorted it this time.” His voice was fried. Steve could practically lose his own lunch at the thought that the sickness might be wrecking havoc on Tony’s broken ribcage.

Steve simply didn’t have the energy to wash the other up completely. He made the man rinse his mouth, then took him to bed with a trashcan beneath his right arm. The shaking didn’t stop. Steve feared that it would never stop.

“Stay,” the smaller begged, clinging to his arm with what little strength he could muster. “I can’t… c-can’t be alone, Steve,” he mumbled almost incoherently. Steve wondered idly how much it pained Tony to let anyone see him in such a way.

“I was going to get you food,” Steve protested, attempting to pry the fingers from his skin. It ended up being not that he didn’t have the strength to do so, just that he certainly didn’t have the heart. Even with the blinds shut, he could see the dampness of sweat on the other’s brow, could hear the teeth clacking together in a dazed chill. “And I was going to take your temperature.”

Immediately, _“Sir is running a fever of 103.7 degrees Fahrenheit.”_ and Steve knew better than to question how to AI knew such a thing so quickly.

“Stay,” again, feebly pulling now at Steve’s sleeve. “Don’t leave me.”

“You have a fever.” That was why. “You only want me here be… because you have a-a fever.”

Tony drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, tugging at the white material of the shirt. When he spoke, his throat strained. “Still want you, though.”

 

Steve sat down on the bed- because Tony was sick. If Tony weren’t sick, he would have left. He would have. Tony seemed contented with the decision and released him, shuffling until he lay writhing uncomfortably on the duvet.

“I’m cold,” he whined, his good arm attempting to cradle his casted one to no success. Those damn glassy, drugged eyes blinked once, twice, expectantly. 

“Then get under the covers.”

“I want you.” 

“Will you sleep if I sit beside you?”

“Yes.”

Steve paused, then began to move backward to rest by Tony’s head. He lifted the sheets, draping them over the smaller man’s shoulders- because Tony was sick. If Tony weren’t sick, he wouldn’t have rubbed a warming hand over the shivering man’s shoulder. He wouldn’t have. Steve could feel the body trembling as Tony pressed against his leg. 

“Stay,” a raw voice whispered, teeth chattering through the words.

“I will.” Steve replied, murmur seeming like a boom in contrast to the weaker other voice.

“Because I’m your team-mate?”

“No.”

“Because you pity me?”

“No.” 

“Why, then?” Tony’s fingers clenched and unclenched randomly on Steve’s thigh, as if struggling to find something to hold him steady. Steve filled it with his own hand, fingers interlocking- because Tony was sick. If he weren't sick, Steve wouldn’t have rubbed the pad of his thumb soothingly over the back of Tony’s palm in easy and calming strokes. He wouldn’t have. 

“Because-“ Steve’s words caught in his throat, looking over the weak form; shivering, whimpering, in complete and total daze of a withdrawal-induced fever. He wanted to say so many things- ‘ _because I care about you’_ or _‘because you are important to me.’_

Instead, all that he could manage was, “just because.” 

 


	7. giving baby steps a new meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick errand gone wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was my favourite to write so far... things are picking up speed!
> 
> Song for this chapter:
> 
> Let It Be by Hayley Kiyoko
> 
> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry

Steve didn’t know how he found himself in the position of wrestling Tony Stark into one of his own large hoodies. The more that he struggled to pull Tony’s flailing arm through the sleeve, the more that the man huffed and complained. Finally, Steve seemed to give up in his gently urging Tony into the clothing and simply pulled it over the man’s head. His hair stuck up wildly, fuzzy and staticky which only displeased the other more. He whined, running his uninjured hand through the tufts in order to smooth them out. Steve just took over and did it himself, smoothing over Tony’s hair until the static relatively went away.

“I-I’m taking this,” he insisted and Steve sighed once he saw that Tony had wrapped a fluffy blue blanket around his shoulders. Even with the blanket, the smaller man shivered and Steve didn’t even want to imagine how much worse Tony’s fever would become once they had stepped out into the raining New York streets. Unfortunately, the lack of medicine in the tower left little choice.

“Tony,” Steve said, “I can get you more layers, you don’t have to bring a blanket with you.”

“I want to.”

“Tony, no.” Steve’s hand curled in the soft texture and he tugged it from Tony’s shoulders, tossing it back onto the bed. “Come here, I’ll get you a jacket.”

Tony was apparently far too good for hoodies, so he had to settle for what Steve had to offer him of his own clothing. Of course, by the time that Steve had slung a ridiculously large bomber jacket over Tony’s shoulders, the casted arm was trapped beneath five layers of clothing and the complaints had begun.

“You could just stay here-“

“You promised,” Tony responded quickly, his fingers tugging at Steve’s sleeve persistently. “You promised that you wouldn't leave.”

“This isn’t a good idea.” Steve lamented, ignoring what Tony had said. Yes, he’d promised that he wouldn’t leave Tony- but wasn't this just a bit much? Despite the ridiculous situation, he zipped up his own jacket and put an arm on Tony’s shoulder to guide him to the elevator.

 

The least expensive car that Tony had in the garage was just shy of $900,000 because _‘of course it is, look who you’re talking to.’_ Just the idea of _driving_ such a high caliber vehicle gave Steve a sensation of nausea, forget the very fact that they were trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately, Steve’s motorcycle was out of the question due to Tony’s arm and the high fever that he was running. Just getting the man situated in the passenger seat was enough of a task.

“We’ll just park further away from the entrance, I guess,” Steve mumbled to himself. The engine purred to life as he turned the key in the ignition and, yes, he had to admit that the steady rumble of the vehicle was certainly satisfying. Tony seemed to think so too, leaning back and allowing himself to settle.

“You’re gonna make me walk across the parking lot to the CVS?” Tony questioned, a disgusted tone creeping into his words. Steve merely let out an irritated huff.

“You’ll survive.”

 

———————————————————————-

 

“I think we should ask for help.”

“We don’t need help.”

“I didn’t know you were a medical professional, Cap. If only I’d kno-“

“Tony! We don’t need any help!”

 

The smaller man pursed his lips and shot Steve an unimpressed look, only serving to fuel his irritation. It was quite honestly a comical sight, the world’s most well-known billionaire buried beneath thick clothing twice his size. In Steve’s jacket, he looked almost like a child. In addition, Tony had pulled up the hood after lamenting that the bright fluorescent lighting in the store was irritating his eyes.

“Hot stuff, seriously, my head is about to explode out of my ears-“

“Tony!” Steve growled, spinning the bottle of Aspirin in his hand and struggling to read the small print. “Just give me a minute, I’m-“

 

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

 

Both Tony and Steve whirled around at the sweet, small voice, and the smaller man even startled a bit, hand clutching to his chest almost protectively. A young, blonde woman clasped her hands behind her back and flashed a grin, wrinkled uniform pulling tight over her arms.

“Yeah, uh, we need-“

“Just looking, thanks.” Steve cut in, shooting a warning glance in Tony’s direction. The man simply cocked his hip and shot back an equally threatening glance, clearing his throat expectantly. A sigh, then Steve surrendered. “We’ve been looking for something for treating fever.”

The was a groan from beside him. “J-just give us everything, alright? We need all we can get.”

“I’d go with something that has some acetaminophen or ibuprofen in it. I’ll just take you over here to get something…” The young teen gestured for the two to follow her and began to rifle among the shelves, chattering away and filling Steve’s shopping basket with multiple items. She laid a bottle of syrup in the hand basket before excusing herself, promising that she would be back as soon as possible. Steve watched as she disappeared behind the counter and began to type something into the computer, hopefully searching for a medication that would clear away the sickness, or at least help.

When Steve turned back around, Tony was facing away from him, his fingers grasping feebly at the shelf. He had pressed his forehead to the cool metal, eyes screwed shut in a pain-filled expression. It took only a moment for him to leap into motion, stepping hurriedly toward the smaller man and fixing his hands on both Tony’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, shocking himself with how abruptly gentle his tone was. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His right palm left Tony’s shoulder and smoothed over his head, covered protectively by the large hood. Tony hadn’t stopped shaking for twelve hours, but now it felt as though his bones were rattling together with the force of it.

“Just…” Tony attempted, then shook his head. “I-I need ‘em now, Steve. Do you have them?”

Steve felt something in his chest wrench and he patted at his own pocket, though he knew that he didn’t have the medication that Tony’s body so demanded. All that he could offer was touch; he didn’t seem to think anything of it in the context of his hammering heart. “I don’t, Tony, I’m sorry.” A pitiful whimper escaped the man and Steve winced, rubbing his hands over Tonys forearms. “It’s okay, it’s okay- we’ll buy this stuff and get out of here.”

“The light h-hurts.”

“I know, I know.” Steve’s eyes scanned manically for the young woman, whirling around with the intent to pace urgently to the counter and pay for the basket full of medicine. What he saw caused his heart to skip. The woman was no longer at the computer or rustling around in the medications behind the counter. No, she was huddled closely with her friend just behind the cash register, giggling and whispering. They each had an iPhone clutched in their hands. _Snap._

“Oh my god!” A shriek sounded from just down the aisle and Steve spun on his heel, finding a young couple staring in their direction. The woman clung excitedly to her husband’s arm and she began to fumble in her purse, finally clutching to her phone. Steve’s fingers grasped at his own hood and he pulled it over his head quickly, guarding Tony’s form almost instinctively with his own body.

_“Is that Captain America?”_

_“Holy shit, it’s Tony Stark!”_

Steve swallowed down a persistent knot in his throat and he slung an arm around Tony’s shoulder, urging him to keep his head down. “We need to go,” Steve muttered, pacing quickly in the opposite direction of the crowd that had begun to form. Tony stumbled over his own feet in order to keep pace with the larger man, curling his own hand into Steve’s jacket to keep himself steady.

“Captain America, can he have a picture?” A mother shoved her son forward and Steve’s senses kicked into gear as another young boy collided with him. Steve released his hold on Tony, sweeping up one child and laying a steadying arm on the other.

“You alright?” He asked quickly, wincing as the startled boy in his arms began to cry. He outstretched the boy toward his mother only to see, much to his disgust, that her hands were too busy snapping pictures on her cellphone and grinning because _Captain America is holding her child._ He settled with placing the boy down on the floor beside the woman, flailing and kicking.

“ _Tony_!” A shriek. Steve whirled around to find a mob of shoppers swarming like wasps around an empty soda can. Steve pushed his way between two bubbling teens, grimacing when he found the hooded figure hunched over and shielding his face- or attempting to with one arm. Steve would his own arm around Tony’s shoulders and continued their beeline to the counter.

“Just ignore ‘em, alright? ’t’s just you and me.” Steve mumbled, his words a direct contradiction to the panic that pulled tight his vocal chords. “Just us. They can’t hurt us.”

The medicines were a mess on the counter once he’d dumped the contents of the cart, pushing the items toward the cashier.

“H-hi, sir, can I get an autograph?” A high pitched, quivering voice.

“Yes, uh, hurry please,” Steve dismissed because he had been wrong; they _could_ hurt them. A dozen customers trailed after them and they were armed, cellphones on constant record. He allowed a sigh of relief once the nervous twenty-something began to scan the items. _Beep, beep._ Tony shrank into his side. “ _No,”_ Steve wanted to tell the cashier. “ _How dare you ask for an autograph? You’re animals.”_

Finally, a plastic bag was pushed toward them along with a pen. Steve hurriedly dug for his receipt and scribbled a signature, pushing it back across the counter.

“T-thank you!”

_“I want one!”_

_“Tony! Are you dying? Tony!”_

“Iron man, iron man!” A young girl stumbled toward them and latched to Tony’s sleeve. Then, her face grew deadly serious and she murmured, “did the bad guys take out your heart?” A little finger pointed, pushed forward, and pressed itself into Tony’s chest.

Steve couldn’t quite decipher if he had been the one to pull Tony away from the small girl or if it had been an animalistic reaction on Tony’s part to stumble backward as if he’d been singed. Either way, Steve grasped the medicines, looped his arm around Tony, and darted to the exit.

Once they had reached the vehicle, Steve didn’t have time to worry about their rain-soaked clothing seeping onto the leather seats. The single thought which consumed his mind was _drive._ In the rearview mirror, tens of people had spilled out into the parking lot, watching their idols flee from beneath the haze of the rain. He didn’t even want to try driving toward the crowd, so he pressed his foot down on the gas and exited via the entrance to the lot.

It took Steve four miles before he allowed himself to truly breathe, the pounding of blood in his ears dying down enough that he could finally hear the steady hum of traffic. _It’s okay,_ he repeated to himself, a mantra that he hoped would see him through until they arrived at the tower. It was only once his breathing had resumed its regular respirations and his heartrate had slowed to an even and consistent beat that he allowed himself to look to the passenger seat. He hadn’t expected to see much good, but it still broke him somewhat inside.

“Tony?”

The man was curled up on the seat, knees pulled to his chest in a position which would be simply impossible for Steve to achieve. From afar, he likely just looked to be a bundle of oversized clothing, hood pulled up in an attempt to hide his face from the other- and previously from the public. Shaking. Not that Steve expected much more.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, resting his left hand on the steering wheel and allowing his right to brush over Tony’s side. He pulled away initially when the man flinched beneath his touch, but was somewhat surprised when instead, he found his pale hand laced into Tony’s darker one. It just fit. Steve forced himself not to think anything of it. “Tony, you’re alright. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get back to the tower and get you some medicine to bring down the fever.” He knew all too well what a fever meant from his childhood; hypersensitivity, hyper-emotionality. He was sure that neither of those things were helping the man’s case.

“I-I-I-“ Tony attempted, shuddering breath interrupting the train of thought. His palm was weak and sweaty in Steve’s. His grip tightened and he tried again. “I can’t do this.”

Steve felt a prickle of anxiety begin to crawl up his spine. It had barely been two days since the accident- Tony couldn’t possibly throw in the towel. “Tony, no,” he responded, tone blunt and bordering on something harsher than he intended. “No, you’re going to do this.”

“I-I can’t, Steve, I can’t.” The voice was broken, thin. It would be so easy to give up- Steve knew not by experience but by the simple dread in the other’s words.

“You’ve been through so much worse,” Steve insisted, sucking in a sharp breath. “Tony, you’ve been through so much worse than this and made it out, please-“

“How can you even say that? You don’t even know me.” It seemed like words that should be screamed, words that should be aimed at him like a repulser. They were quiet- and it was worse.

“I want-“ Steve broke off, his mouth clamping shut instinctively. It seemed like the thoughts on his tongue could change it- they could break so many things. But, oh, he could fix so many things too. A shaky exhale and Steve allowed the pad of his thumb to rub soothingly over Tony’s hand. “I-I want to.”

Tony’s jaw locked and his gaze fell, sucking in a calming breath through his teeth- it didn’t work. Steve could still feel the shaking, could still feel the dam of emotion about to be swept in by the tide. “You don’t,” he disagreed, shaking his head slowly. “Not a good idea, spangles. I-I don’t deserve it.” Steve felt something within him pound at the words, wishing to scream a resounding defiance at the words because _yes, yes, of course you deserve it. You deserve far more than anyone could ever give to you._

“Who does?” He said instead, offering a comforting expression.

A sudden honking broke his stream of consciousness and he pulled his hand away from Tony in shock, realizing that he had nearly rear-ended a taxi cab in his distraction. The driver was waving a middle finger in the air, looking back every so often to ensure that Steve was getting the message. Steve pressed his lips together, waved an apology, and broke away from the traffic, allowing the sports car to slow to a crawl along the shoulder of the road, pulling the stick into park. The car hummed still beneath him, purring.

“Rogers, I-I swear to God, I’m trying so hard to h-hold it together right now and if you fuck that up-“ Tony’s voice was shrill, quivering. The defence was back up- but Steve knew that the foundation was slowly diminishing.

“Tony, stop.” Steve’s voice interrupted him and he turned to face the smaller head on, seatbelt unclipped and disregarded in his conviction. Most of Tonys face was reddened and hidden by the shadow that the hood cast over him, but Steve’s eyes were caught on the stubbly skin just below his jawline, the way that he swallowed hard and his lower lip wobbled in a feeble attempt to hide his vulnerability. Gentle lips. Steve just wanted to touch them, to shut him up for once. He didn’t have the patience to entertain what that desire meant. “You deserve me just as much as anyone else does- no, more. You… you know what you don’t deserve?” He paused for emphasis, gaze trained on Tony’s wavering expression. “This. You don’t deserve to-to feel like this and you _damn well_ don’t deserve the way that all those goddamn people gawk at you like you’re broken. You’re _not._ You’re going to be okay.” A silence and Steve grasped at Tony’s hand again, firm and solid. Then, again, Steve echoed, “you’re going to be okay,” because _god willing_ he may start to believe it.

Steve wondered, at the back of his mind, just how many people had seen Tony in such a state- let alone that he had already seen a small breakdown the previous night. Pepper, Rhodey, possibly Bruce- and then Steve. It was a very different person, maybe partially due to the fever or the drugs (or lack thereof), but not in a bad way. In a more vulnerable, somehow stronger way.

Tony pulled his sleeve up to cover his face, the baggy fabric adequately shielding his features due to its oversized nature. Gasping breaths- what were something more like badly-hidden sobs. “I’m gonna mess it up.”

“I know.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“I know,” Steve replied once again, biting down hard on his lip for a moment. His own emotion began to swell at the words; it’s gonna hurt. _In what way, Tony? How can it hurt you more than this?_ “I never said it wouldn’t. I know you’ve been hurt worse before.”

“Not like this,” Tony refuted, shaking his head which was mostly covered by the protective barrier of his sleeve. “W-when I had to get out of that cave, I did it for all the people I-I had waiting back home. When I had to deal with all the-“ he gestured to his forehead, “- mental stuff, I did it for Pepper. W-who do I do it for now?”

“Yourself.”

Tony scoffed. “You’ve seen I don’t care much about him.”

“For the Avengers?”

“We did a good job of fucking that up for b-both of us, didn’t we?”

“Then… do it for the greater good.”

Another scoff. “That might get you off, sure. Not me.”

“Then,” Steve began slowly, words seeming to catch in his throat as if to say, _are you sure you want to do this?_ “For me. Would you… would you do it for me?” It was more than a suggestion; a request, almost. _Will you. Will you._

Tony sniffled, then wiped any remnants of emotion from his face with his arm. Finally, he allowed himself to show. His eyes still contained a redness that was a trademark of tears, skin flushed and red even without the fever. To most, it would be unattractive- to most. To Steve, it was nothing short of determined, brave.

Tony didn’t respond, just nodded silently. A nod that said, _“okay.”_

 

Just as they had begun, Steve found himself wrestling Tony’s arm through the sleeve of an oversized hoodie- though pulling him out of it was much simpler than it had been to put it on. He dropped the wet material to the floor and started on the next layer until Tony’s skin was exposed, shivering in only his boxers. Steve’s eyes traced over the scars- _don’t think about it. Don’t._

“Do you want a shower?” Steve said instead, stooping down and beginning to fold the clothing neatly. He heard Tony scoff at his tidying, but he only shot the other a quizzical, daring look and continued.

“No.”

“It would probably do you well if you’re cold,” Steve pointed, but Tony still shook his head.

“I-I don’t usually do showers.”

Steve frowned, sensing the hesitance behind the words. “Why not?”

There was, for a moment, thoughtful consideration before he shook his head. No. Too far, too soon.

“Nah,” Tony decided, face angled to the floor now. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Faded colour. Steve wanted desperately to press, but the closed expression on the other’s face indicated that he wouldn't get far, even taking into consideration the pain written across there.

“Alright,” Steve turned away to fetch new clothing because _the scars_ there- he could worry himself sick if he continued to stare there.

“I’m too hot,” Tony whined and Steve forced a sigh back. Of course he would remain un co-operative.

“Alright, then lay in bed.” Steve bargained.

“With you, Capsicle?”

“No, I’m getting your medicine. I’ll be back in twenty seconds.”

“I’ll miss you,” Tony pouted and, yeah, it was certainly just a fever. A fever. Thankfully, the other climbed onto the sheets, collapsing on his back in a show of over-dramatics. Steve dimmed the lights.

The various medicines were pushed up onto a shelf out of view once adequate supplies were gathered. A glass of water, painkillers, a cool cloth, soda crackers. When Steve returned, armed with his weapons of choice, Tony blinked in wait.

“Do you have the m-meds?” He whispered hopefully. Steve shook his head.

“Not the ones you want. Sit up.” The weight on the bed shifted as Steve sat down, blankets bunching up. Tony pushed himself up with a wince. “Watch your ribs,” Steve warned. Tony groaned.

The man swallowed down the pills dry, only drinking when Steve began to pester him about hydration. The food was already going to be a lost cause, Steve realized, and settled for making Tony rest instead. There was a whine when Steve pressed the cloth to his face.

“It’s too cold!”

“You just said that you were hot.”

“Well, I’m cold now.” Tony pulled in a shiver through his teeth, turning his face away.

“You’re burning up,” Steve insisted, placing his palm thoughtfully over the sweaty, warm forehead. He replaced it with the cloth despite the string of protests and complaints which followed.

“I’m not gonna sleep, you know. My everything hurts too much.”

“Then just try,” Steve prompted, reaching out to run his fingers through Tony’s unkempt hair who practically purred at the sensation.

“How do I know you’ll stay?” The voice was small. Steve allowed a sigh to escape him as he lowered himself to lay down. An arm fixed securely over Tony’s torso, but he didn’t pull any closer than an arm’s reach away. No. Too far, too fast. Tony’s muscles relaxed just slightly.

“There. Does it feel like I’m leaving?”

Tony didn’t need to reply.

 


	8. Live on a Faultline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stitching- metaphorical and literal- comes loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter:
> 
> Fault Line by Flatsound

 

A slammed door. Steve awoke with a start. Beside him, where his arm rested, was warm with body heat- but no body. It took moments for the man to compute the absence and sit upright, immediately sprinting into combat mode; where had Tony been taken to? Who was he taken by? Steve’s breaths came shallower, reserving energy and-

The bathroom light shone out from the crack between the door and the floor. Just in the washroom. Not gone. Still here. Steve’s mind processed these facts mechanically like equations through a computer. Still here. Not 1938. It’s not 1938.

The bed was still warm there where Tony had laid. Steve ran his hand along the space there, simply breathing. Still here. _He’s okay._ Then the sheets were… wet? The white bedding was no longer white. Red. Red. _Red._

“Tony?” The alarmed call sprang from his lips before he could register his bare feet hitting the floor. he was at the door in seconds, rapping hurriedly. “What’s going on, Tony? Are you alright?”

“All fine, Cap!” Came the shaky response, higher pitched. Panicked. “Some, uh, stitching came loose but, uh, I-I’m fine-“

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Let me in.”

“Seriously, I’m fine, Steve-“

 _“Let me in_ or I’ll come in myself.”

 

No response. Steve waited…. waited….

Then, with just a jerk of his wrist, he broke the lock.

 

Tony’s form was crouched between the toilet and the bathtub, hunched over himself. On his side, he had pressed a large white bath towel- well, what had once been white.

“It’s my time of th-the month,” Tony joked dryly, though his state was no laughing matter. Every possible colour had drained from his cheeks and now was a ghostly pale instead.

“Tony,” Steve breathed, “that’s a lot of blood.”

“C-congratulations, you have eyes!” Tony’s tone became suddenly harsh, shrill with panic. “Is now a good time to let you know that I have a bum ticker? Get to it!”

Steve’s own blood, blood that was not all over the pristine white bathroom, ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that my, uh, heart might start pumping my organs out of these stitches if this blood doesn’t-“ he cut himself off, huffing frustratedly.

Steve knelt before him, taking the place of Tony’s hands and putting pressure there. A whimper escaped and Steve only then recalled the ribs. He cursed under his breath at his own helplessness.

“It hurts, I know, just-“ he sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m gonna stitch it, okay?”

Tony gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut in concentration. “D-do you know how?”

“Yes,” Steve replied and, yeah, it wasn’t a lie. He’d done it before- ninety-four years ago. Beginning to rifle through the cupboards, Steve felt a tug on his shirt.

“You need t-to get the kit in the kitchen.”

It took a moment for the words to compute. Kitchen = first aid kit, kitchen = downstairs, Tony = injured, Steve = carry Tony downstairs.

“I’m gonna take you downstairs, then, alright?” Steve informed gently. “I need you to hold this on the wound.” He grasped Tony’s hand and pressed it down on the maroon towel. He struggled to press down his panic when his hands drew away wet and red from just holding the towel. “I’m gonna pick you up, alright? Is this okay?”

“Jesus, Steve, j-just-“

“Okay, okay,” Steve huffed, looping an arm under Tony’s legs and back. “This was common knowledge when I was a soldier,” Steve rambled, giving himself something to focus on other than blood, blood, _blood._ He laid Tony on the couch, withdrawing his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the painful wince. “I’m gonna get the kit, alright? Is that okay? Where is it?”

“Leftmost cupboard over there,” Tony replied, voice laboured. Steve ignored that- or tried to. He was bringing back a large marked container in moments, cracking it open and rifling for the needed supplies.

“I’m gonna press some gauze on it, okay? You’re going to be alright, Tony, you’re-“

“Steve.” Tony cut in and fixed Steve a hard, but sympathetic gaze. “You’re panicking.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve refuted and _oh_ maybe he was panicking a little bit. “Shit,” he cursed. His hands shook with so much ferocity that the white wad that he held was white-knuckled in his grip. Shit. Shit. _Shit._

“Steve… Steve. _Steve!_ ” Tony’s fingers wound around Steve’s, a pale and sluggish expression sprouting a forced smile. “It’s going to be okay. I-I’m fine, okay? It’s gonna be fine, spangles. I need you to c-calm down, though. Can you, uh… can you do that for me?” His tone was shockingly sincere and almost out of character. Steve felt a buzzing inside of him begin to still, a warmth settling down in his chest and blossoming outward like glowing flame. Warm.

Steve blinked. Swallowed. “Yes.”

Tony smiled, thin-lipped, painstakingly. “Good.” He patted the back of Steve’s palm firmly and withdrew. “Now, uh, let’s get this sh-show on the road, if you don’t mind.”

Steve pressed down on the wound, mopping up the blood and dragging out more gauze once it was sopping and crimson. Cleaning, cleaning until the laceration itself was visible enough. His breath caught in his throat; the _blood._ Steve was in no way or form squeamish and certainly did not fear blood like some did- no, he feared what it entailed. He exhaled shakily only when an ache in his lungs made its presence known.

“Steve, c’mon, get the stitching and t-the anesthetic now. Bottom right.” The voice was murmuring. Quiet. Steve began to search until he dragged out the items. Something in him numbed. He set up the thread and needle- _“string through the tiger’s eye, loop it around, hold it tight,” s_ omewhere, his mother spoke. _“Hold it tight.”_ Steve sprayed on the local anesthetic in from small clear bottle, waited… then, _“bunny goes in the rabbit hole, out the other side. Again. In and out, pull it tight. In, out, pull. Like that, Stevie. Again… good. In, out, pull. In, out, pull. Now do the knot I showed you, honey. Good, good…”_

“… good, good.” Tony’s voice. Not mom. Tony. Just Tony. Living and breathing. “See? All good. N-now just…” he reached toward the kit fumbling. Steve’s mind slowly began to defrost. He finished the movement, grasping a roll of bandage and pressing the gauze down securely. He eased Tony up to a seated position, not without its groans and mutters, wrapped, wrapped, fastened.

Tony’s chest heaved with a steady breath, scars catching in the light. Steve wanted to flinch, to look away from what had once hurt the other so badly. The worst was the not knowing. Not knowing. How many times had Tony nearly died? Why not, for once, could it be Steve? Could it be anyone else? A twisting sensation began in Steve’s throat, tight and heavy. He swallowed hard, an overwhelming, sorrowful thankfulness. Thank God. Thank _God_ Tony was still around- was still with him.

Tony huffed a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Cap, you had me worried the-“

Then, there was no more talking. Nothing more; full halt, full stop. Steve’s heart slowed, slowed, and felt like it stopped beating altogether. Tony’s lips were pressed to his own and it was just Tony. _Tony._ No more, no less.

Steve’s hand, which had somehow rested gently around the back of Tony’s neck, loosened its gentle hold. His skin, which had at some point pressed itself to the dark scruff on the other’s face, drew away. Blue eyes fluttered open to the shocked expression in the other brown ones. The knot in Steve’s throat dropped down to his gut. Twisted.

“What… what was that?” Tony breathed, swallowing hard. His throat strained and bobbed. Steve wanted to kiss it.

“Oh, Jesus,” Steve hissed, blood draining from his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, it was just s-so… spur-of-the-moment, I d-didn’t think, I-“

“Gross.” Tony’s voice was hardly a murmur. Steve’s heart dropped in sorrow. Then, a grin. It grew over Tony’s face- different from any other proud and cocky expression he’d worn before. “Do it again.”

So Steve did.

They danced then, lips on lips, moving, moving in a perfect sinc. It just fit- a bit too well. Steve remembered his very first; sloppy, wet, uncoordinated. The lucky lady had laughed uncomfortably, thinking that the kiss was a poorly-executed joke. Neither of them were laughing this time.

He hadn’t been drunk since before the serum, back when he'd begged and begged Bucky to drag him along to a party he’d never received an invitation for. Three drinks in and he’d been done for, clinging to Bucky’s dress shirt and blubbering about some girl who’d dumped him years before. It was the last party Bucky had taken him to back then. Steve had never been… the “good” kind of drunk- but he imagined it felt like this.

He leaned in, taking in more. Tony was like that. Steve figured that he could keep leaning, keep dancing, and it would still not be enough. He was in a desert and Tony was water. He couldn’t help but yearn for more and more suddenly. It was as if his whole life had been lived without water.

The itch of the other’s scruff grew absent and their lips parted, leaning in only to rest foreheads together. Noses brushed. A breathy laugh from Tony, laboured and feeble.

“You alright?” Steve murmured gently, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. Tony chuckled- it was the most beautiful thing Steve had heard in this century.

“Better now, soldier,” came the reply, then the grin faded just slightly. “I just, uh, I-I gotta keep my pulse down for a while to… to…”

Steve pressed his lips together in a pensive expression, brushing his fingers against the bandage on Tony’s side.

“Alright,” Steve replied softly. He rested his palm on Tony’s hip, smoothing his thumb over where the wrapping met the skin. Tony sighed and his head fell forward to rest against Steve’s chest. Steve’s other palm brushed over Tony’s cheek and Tony clasped it there. “How are you feeling now?” Steve prompted, shocking himself with the gentleness in his own voice.

“Tired,” came the reply. Steve didn’t ask of what. Steve’s fingers curled around Tony’s, frowning at the trembling sensation that was there. The skin was cold.

“Tony,” Steve said after a while, “what was that?”

Another chuckle. “There’s the million dollar question.”

“I’m serious,” Steve insisted quietly. He didn’t allow his mind to wander, no. He didn’t imagine the next time that something similar would happen. He didn’t recall the expressions of horror on Natasha and Bruce’s faces when Tony’s arc reactor had been shattered during combat once. He didn’t think about those things. He didn’t.

“Can’t we save that sob story? I-I just spent the last twenty minutes watching life flash before my eyes.”

Steve’s lips pressed together as if to keep the words in. “Well, I’d rather you did so that we can avoid that _ever_ happening again.” A pause and his expression softened. “I won’t make you, though.”

“Good.” There was another long, stretched quiet, but it was broken by another guarded statement. “Let’s… let’s just go back to bed.”

Maybe it was true that if he hadn't asked, Tony wouldn’t have pulled away from Steve’s touch and tried to push himself up and walk back to the elevator alone- maybe. But that was one un-negotiable thing. He barely registered a hum of disapproval that left his throat, sliding an arm around Tony’s shoulders and then another under his knees, lifting him close.

“You don’t have to carry me,” came the weak protest and, yeah, of course he would say that after he’d turned the majority of Steve’s shirt a dark red.

“I don’t.” Steve settled for saying simply. Even despite the protests, his arms slung around Steve’s neck. Skin to skin, warmth on warmth. A small smile came to Steve’s lips.

“There’s shrapnel in my chest.” A quiet confession. “That suffice?”

The elevator doors moved in complete silence, shutting them in and beginning the ascent. Steve’s heart dropped, then skipped a beat, then allowed him to nod. “Yes.”

“That’s, uh… what this is doing; keeping it all from shredding up my aorta.” Tony’s fingers tapped on the metal of the reactor. Steve’s eyes followed the sound, then darted back up. Tony sighed dejectedly, retracting his arm from where it rested on Steve’s shoulder. “See why I don’t talk about this shit?”

“No, I…” Steve began helplessly. “I just… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know. I-I wish I’d known, Tony.”

“You hated me, spandex.” Tony refuted halfheartedly. Steve shook his head.

“I didn’t know you,” he admitted, finally breaking his intense stare-down with the elevator doors as their ascent slowed, slowed, then stopped. Blue gaze met brown in the dull, fluorescent lighting. Then, the doors slid open and much of their space was filled with darkness, the light blurring with shadow on the smooth master suite floor. Somewhere, the ticking of a clock filled the empty air. In any other context, it would have been eerie; but now, it was just comfortable. It was right.

“Most people prefer it that way,” Tony pointed dully, breaking his sincere streak of confession by patting Steve’s cheek sarcastically and forcing a fake smile. “You’re not special. Y-you’ll figure it out the hard way if you stick around.”

Steve wanted to swat away Tony’s hand, to frown at the change in character. The guard was up once again- fragile, but Tony was trying to close himself off. Instead, he fed into it. “Figure what out?” Bare feet navigated the cold flooring, rounding the couch and finally slowing once they had reached the bedroom. All was dark, save for the flickering lights of New York City illuminating the windowpane and the steady, pale glow of the arc reactor. Steve set the other down on the bed, somewhat grateful for the lack of visibility so that he wouldn’t have to see Tony’s state, his pale face, his wincing even when Steve tried his hardest to make his movements as smooth as possible.

“That nothing I can give you is going to be enough.”

“I never asked for anything.”

 

The room, their bodies, even their breath stilled for a moment. For once, Steve didn’t calculate his next move intently. It was just fluid, natural, the way that he smiled softly, sadly, and reached through the dim lighting that the light in Tony’s chest cast. He cupped his hand around the other’s jaw, thumb resting just below his lip and fingertips pressing gently on the coarse hair just below his temple.

“It’s enough- you’re enough. All by yourself.”

In the silence, Steve could hear Tony swallow hard. Something inside of him broke as he wondered if the other man had ever been told that he was enough- without the money or the suit or the bullshit. Just him. Steve sealed the words with a kiss to the cheek. For a moment, neither said anything. In the dimmed glow of the reactor, Steve watched the other’s face contort to a grimace, gaze somewhere far off over Steve’s shoulder. The blonde tapped where his thumb was on the man’s chin and nudged. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” came the response and thankfully he returned, blinking a few times and fixing Steve with a sour expression.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Tony scoffed at that, balking out of Steve’s reach until his back hit the headboard. The fingers on his good hand combed anxiously through his wild hair. “It’s just a lot,” he admitted quietly, though his tone was guarded and shallow. The mood shift was sudden, brought on by only a few words- Steve felt confusion pool inside of him at the quickness that the man could split emotions. “I need space to think.” Something shattered inside Steve’s chest and he swallowed hard. Forced himself to nod.

“I’m afraid of how that ‘thinking’ will end up.” Steve stated, confessed- well, hid the confession with a stoic expression. Removed. Cold.

“Please, Rogers, there’s a-a… there’s a goddamn time and a place for you and it’s not _here_ right now, capishe? So scoot and go pity me somewhere else.”

Steve’s chest ached and only then did he remember to breathe. He struggled not to feel hurt. A moment’s quiet and then he nodded again. Once more, just to feel that his head was still there, heavy.

“Okay. But… I-I need to know that you’re going to stay.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Yes. Fine. Yes. I will just because you’re going- but you sticking around right now? Makes me want to move countries.”

Steve tried not to slam the door on his way out. Tony promised to stay. Steve knew he wouldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry
> 
> Go give me fluffy prompts- I'm gonna need them after this.


End file.
